


Bread and Circuses

by froeken_frost



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Abusive Parents, Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Breathplay, Caesar's Legion, Caesar's legion is a drug cartel now, Chair Sex, Child Neglect, Choking, Clothed Sex, Collars, Corruption, Crimes & Criminals, Crossover, Crucifixion, Desk Sex, Dom Solas, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Drugs, Drunk Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Female OC Dom, Graphic Novelish, Heroin, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrated, Including Awesome Art, Just Sex everywhere!, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Original Character(s), Physical Abuse, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Self-Destruction, Self-Hatred, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Spanking, Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, please don't take this too seriously, sex in inappropriate places, unhealthy BDSM relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-05-25 11:50:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6193990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/froeken_frost/pseuds/froeken_frost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A gasp of relief runs through the city when Police-Captain Rebecca Adamowicz finally declares the drug war over and the streets of Washington D.C to be safe again.<br/>Nowadays most of the city's population hardly ever thinks about the seething drug war that kept the entire city in suspense three years ago, content with the superficial image of peace.<br/>Life had to go on, after all, also for Detective Joshua Cromwell.<br/>But drug war is still war... And war never changes...<br/> </p>
<p>A Fallout-nerd and a Dragon Age-nerd with an unhealthy obsession over their OCs create a Trash Universe solely for their characters to interact. Which then gets out of their hands. Terribly - And then grows into something way bigger.<br/>Expect to see a delicate tale, starring: Gore, violence, Dom!Solas, shameless smut and Caesar's Legion as your local neighbourhood drug cartell.</p>
<p>And it all started with the innocent statement: 'You know what? Lisa would make a really good serial killer!'<br/>So here we are... The crossover nobody has been waiting for!</p>
<p>Pay the creators a visit <a href="http://matychan.deviantart.com/">here</a> and <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/froeken_frost/series">here</a> :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Credits for the awesome artwork and the ((co-plot-devolopment?!)) go to [MatyChan](http://matychan.deviantart.com/).  
> Plus, they've done the beta-ing, so if anything is still ad odds, it's totally their fault...! ;D
> 
> Btw neither of us are in any way involved in police-business, and just making stuff up as we go - but hey, there's smut?! ;)
> 
> We will update the story on a weekly basis every Tuesday - since Thedas is well-known for abominations, blood-magic and ritual dismemberments on Tuesdays, it can't hurt to throw this sinful work along.

 

 

 

 

Mia bit back a moan as Joshua kept fumbling with the buttons of her shirt, pressing halfhearted kisses along her exposed neck. It had already been too long again. Annoyed of the delay she pushed his hands aside to unbutton it herself, unwilling to waste any more time than necessary.

Joshua murmured something unintelligible that Mia simply took as a thank you. Impatiently she reached for his belt buckle and unclasped it with quick, practiced hands. She attempted to push the rough fabric of his jeans down, but Joshua gripped her wrists and removed them from his waistband, clutching them at the small of her back. Instead he tugged softly on one of her nipples, wet mouth closing around the tightened peak, his free hand tangled in her hair, a steady sweet sting arising from her scalp that made her arch against his still clothed chest.

Mia wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, grinding herself against his hardened outline. Sure foreplay was nice and all; and yes, he was quite skilled at it but…

“Fuck!” The curse fled her lips before she could hold it back. White-hot pleasure shot through her stomach as Joshua’s teeth grazed at the sensitive spot.

She tried to reach for him with her other, free hand, but he let go of her hair and pinned her second hand down effortlessly. Part of her hated how much she was at his mercy now, impossible to move against his bulk, with his hands still clutched on her wrists, forcing her to arch her back if she wanted any kind of friction.

“God damn you!” She stuttered, breath coming more ragged as Joshua worked his way down her half exposed body.

“You don’t like that anymore?” Joshua’s low voice vibrated against the sensitive skin of her lower belly, exploiting the time he needed to ask to settle there for longer than necessary, placing open-mouthed kisses right above the spot where Mia actually wanted his tongue.

“Fuck you.” Mia spit out almost angrily, struggling again to free her hands, to adjust, but Joshua’s grip stayed staunch, denying her any kind of friction, letting her grind against empty air.

“That’s not exactly a nice thing to say.” He kept teasing, lips wandering up again, brushing against her bony rip cage.

He had let go of one of her wrists to push her skirt up her tights, punctuating every word, as he gripped at her hipbones, demanding fingertips digging sharply into her skin. Mia hissed at the jolting pleasure, but didn’t dare to move her hand away.

“Stop teasing, bastard.” She growled, sourly realizing she had started panting as Joshua had begun to caress the inside of her tights, still agonizingly slow.

Devil take him, he usually never took that much time! The hot pounding of blood in her center threatened to make her dizzy if he kept his pace. He attempted to repeat the infuriating, tortuous procedure on her second tight, but Mia finally had enough of waiting.

Before he could object, she twisted her fingers in his short, brown hair and shoved him down carelessly between her spread legs. He hummed in appreciation, sending waves of pleasure through her incensed clit as he eagerly pressed another open-mouthed kiss above her slick entrance.

Mia sighed in relief as she let herself fall into the pleasure the clever stroking of his tongue drew from her. She rolled her hips and ground herself against him, filthy moans falling uncared from her parted lips as his hands wandered up to cup her breasts and toy with her nipples again, his tongue wandered back to her wet slit, neglecting her clit on full purpose.

Pleasure was building up in the lower part of her stomach, but not enough, not nearly enough, she needed…

She didn’t realize the sharp ring at first, tearing their common silence apart. She did, after Joshua withdrew from her to reach for his phone still buried in the depth of his pockets.

“What?” Joshua grunted into the cellphone, obviously just as irritated by the interruption as she was herself. Groaning in frustration she let herself fall back against the cold metal of the dissecting table.

It was already long after their quitting time and the headquarters were almost entirely abandoned. Who on earth had the nerves to call right now?

Mia listened impatiently to Joshua’s short, jerky responses, expecting to quit the annoying phone call as soon as possible.

“Alright. I’ll be right there.” Well, that was unexpected. Mia rose promptly, unable to do much more than bluntly stare at him.

“That important case?” She tried a weak attempt to tease, even though she had almost no hope they would continue their encounter.

It was a heavy going being involved with police officers, she should know. Yet she cursed herself for her frivolous tone as she spotted the perturbation on Joshua’s face. She frowned instantly, something was definitely wrong.

“What is it?” Joshua seemed to jolt out of some different thoughts, startling up at the sound of her voice.

“I… I have to go. I’m sorry.” Mia let out a deep sigh, for she had expected it already anyway.

“Already then. Since I’m still here, shall I prepare the lab for the autopsy?” Joshua fixed his belt quickly and tugged his shirt straight again. He nodded, but his mind was clearly absent already. He left with only a brief “Yes please.” before the door closed with a smack, sounding unusually loud in the silence of the abandoned building.

Mia stayed for a second, letting her frustration gnaw at the back of her mind, wondering what had happened that he suddenly started to behave so strangely, before she leapt down from her work desk and prepared for the poor wretch Joshua would bring in in shortly.

 

* * *

 

Timothy was not amused. At all.

In the time before his job as a detective, he had appreciated his cellphone ringing after he left from work quite a lot, usually signalizing a handsome half-stranger who was lonely and horny enough to make one of these particular calls.

His anticipation about Joshua calling him two hours after their official quitting time couldn’t compare at all though. Sure, he loved his work, otherwise he wouldn’t have worked as hard as he did to get in his position at his still quite young age.

Yet, tonight he had really looked forward to some ordered Chinese food, his Chardonnay and the Big Game tonight. He was startled as Ser Pounce-a-lot started screeching and needed a few seconds to catch the cause.

He should have told the cat that sitting on his phone wasn’t the best idea as it started buzzing. Maybe Joshua’s television broke and he needed another place to watch the Game, he speculated.

Presumably not.

Yet the thought of it was indeed far more intriguing.

With another sigh he swapped the virtual green phone to the left and answered. Indeed, Joshua’s television wasn’t broken. Timothy noted the address his partner told him and slipped into jacket and shoes before he grabbed his keys and left.

Apparently, tonight would be a very long night. On his way he realized he’d forgotten to record the Game. He cursed vocally in the silence of his car.

He parked a few meters away from the bridge Joshua had told him.

Weird, he mused, usually when they were called to places like these, the body was found underneath it, unlucky souls who preferred to jump instead of facing their problems – or those who were made to jump. But on top of the bridge? That promised to be interesting!

He hurried up the bridge, already welcomed by the flickering blue light of Joshua’s car. Even though he’d tried not to waste any time, there was already a crowd of their people building around - _oh._

Well, that definitely fulfilled _interesting_!

Timothy needed a few seconds to process what he was seeing, set on the highest point of the bridge, the heavy-looking wooden cross stared back at him, the twisted, wretched body pinned arms spread against it, the man’s head falling to the side, a bearded face that was torn in what must have been agony. Thick iron nails had been driven into the man’s wrists and feet, blood had trickled down from the horrifying wounds and stained the pale skin.

“Holy mother of God.” Timothy whispered, his throat rough as he felt a slight trace of rising nausea in his stomach. One should have guessed people stopped doing stuff like that for at least two thousand years by now!

He must have been quite obtained in the scenery, for he noticed Joshua first as he stopped next to him.

“That’s truly… something.” He muttered, a weak attempt to joke in order to suppress the most unpleasant rumbling in his stomach, half expecting Joshua to snap at him. Instead the older man remained silent.

Confused, Timothy glanced at his partner only to see his face paler than usual in the brisk light of the beacons on top of the police cars.

“You feeling alright, man?” Now that Timothy watched him more closely, Joshua indeed looked pretty bad, even for his terms, with dull eyes and flushed, darkened cheeks, a feverish shine on his forehead.

“The victim is male, around 30-40, no wallet, no clothes, no papers. Likely not killed here, would’ve probably raised too much attention. They presumably killed him somewhere else and placed him here so everybody could see him. Looks like someone wanted to make an example.”

Timothy frowned at Joshua’s throaty voice.

“You could have only been here like, five minutes before me! There’s no way you found out all of this short amount of time!” Joshua slowly shook his head, eyes still fixed at the crucified body.

“No. I’ve seen something like this before.”

* * *

 

Originally, this had been a particular nice morning for Lisa, welcomed by a sunrise that had turned the sky into all the pretty shades of pink as she had awakened from a few hours of her dreamless, sound sleep.

Her entertainment from the evening before had done much for her elated mood, too; she always slept better if she had fulfilled her tasks before going to bed. She had been out of bed in an instant and had jumped into a cold shower.

When the red blinking sign on her answering machine had appeared after she stepped out of her small bathroom, her hair still damp and her body only covered by a soft towel, Lisa had already grinned to herself.

There was only one man who dared to call her this early in the morning.

Indeed, Caesar’s voice had hung heavy and dense in the air and Lisa had allowed herself a soft, anticipating sigh as he ordered her in his office immediately.

She knew she had pleased him when she took care of that little filth herself.

She had dressed as quick as she could manage and headed out for Caesar’s quarters. One brief glance in the rearview mirror had confirmed that her hair and make-up were still set properly and parked her car in front of the plain building.

As Lisa spotted Caesar’s slim secretary, she noticed the shy woman avoided making eye contact even more than usual. The hoarse voice was coming from Caesar’s shut office door, distinctly carrying quite an amount of anger along with it. Since Lisa couldn’t hear a second voice answering in the small gaps in his ragged voice, she assumed him to be on the phone.

Lisa cocked an eyebrow at the woman next to her, who was obviously pretending to be very occupied and busy with some kind of tasks so she could keep ignoring Lisa’s presence. Her scared expression made Lisa smile a little broader internally. She took it as an evidence she still had it within her.

“I’ve been waiting for minutes now. When will he be finished?” She snarled at the woman, a little sharper than she had to, but the delicious flinch of the woman and her startled face were definitely worth it. To her delight, Lisa noticed the woman swallowing hard before she dared to answer her.

“I’m not sure, Ma’am. He said you might have to wait for a while.” Lisa stared at her for a few seconds, indecisively whether to yell at her for the incredible bluntness or if she should walk straight up into Caesar’s office and demand answers for this humiliating treatment.

At any other time she would have found the hasty submissive lowering of the woman’s head delightful, but right now she just clenched her jaws and forced herself not to take her anger out on her. Caesar liked his employees nice and pretty. A shame, indeed.

Thankfully at that moment the ranting voice behind the closed door silenced and said door was thrown open, exposing a truly angry Caesar. Something in his glance kept Lisa from a harsh comment on how long he had let her wait. Whoever had been on the phone, they had clearly enraged him.

Lisa decided to ignore the seething mood of her business partner and entered his office without another word. A quick reminder to herself of the favor she had done him yesterday evening and that he would be in a better mood again, anyway, she sat in the comfy chair next to Caesar’s massive table, overgrowing by all kind of papers as usual.

Considering she faced the desk of one of the most influential men in Washington, it surprised her every time how Caesar could find his way in that kind of chaos.

It was peculiar however, how much time he took to close the door behind her and seated himself in his own chair, towering at the other side of the table.

Lisa shot him a quick glimpse of admiration before she restrained herself. Now was definitely not the time to indulge. Not with Caesar staring her down like this, his eyes narrowed and darkened, and his head resting on his folded hands, his whole posture tensed and frustrated.

“You’ve got anything to tell me?” Caesar’s dark voice seemed more cutting now, a tune he usually only resorted to if he tried to intimidate one of their employees. Lisa couldn’t remember he had ever used it on her as well.

Yet, before Lisa could find a decent way to respond, Caesar tipped his fingers on the spread newspaper. Lisa followed his lead, the bolt letters jumping right into her sight.

“ **Crucifier back in DC** ”.

The photography underneath it drew a smug grin on her face. She had definitely done quite a decent job with that.

“As you commanded, oh Caesar.” She told him cockyly. Caesar’s fist crashed upon the surface of his desk, the wood aching silently underneath.

“That’s bullshit, Lisa!” Slightly overwhelmed by the sudden outburst it took Lisa a few heartbeats, in which she could only sit in silence and watch as Caesar rose from his chair again, pacing around the spacious office.

“You said he finally overstepped his boundaries.” She didn’t know why she tried to justify her actions. They were perfectly necessary, and Caesar never hesitated to let her do what was necessary.

“Watch your tongue, girl! I never commanded you to crucify him!” Lisa refused to keep sitting down like a scolded school girl. Her arms crossed in front of her she shot back.

“You don’t command me to do anything anymore. We’re equals, remember? He overstepped his boundaries and needed to be stopped. I did. Problem solved.” Caesar let out a sharp sigh as he palmed his neck.

“Nothing is solved, Lisa. You just should’ve killed him, without your usual display.” Lisa shrugged it off.

“Where’s the difference? It made for an example. The next ones will think twice before they’ll get us in trouble.” Caesar shook his head with a disapproving sound.

“That’s not the point. You should have told me about your plan. The jurisdiction wasn’t quite the best. It already led to trouble, but I think I’ll be able to contain most of the damage.” Lisa loosened her arms and let them hang next to her body as soon as she was sure Caesar had calmed down again.

“I’m sorry I caused you so much trouble. I simply wanted you to have this little present.” The smile Caesar shot at her was almost enough to make up for the troubles before.

“I know, honey. I know”

* * *

Stinging pain, threatening ache, circling in her worn-out head, singing world, turning round and round before her eyes. Agonized groan as sharp flush of light burned on the inside of her eyes. Lids closed in a second again, keeping the torturing sun out of her tormented brain. Waiting for her ragged breath to calm, for her pounding heartbeat to soothe.

_Breathe. Just breathe._

Trying to find any kind of orientation again.

Warm air on her face. Inside, good.

Soft fabric against her back, warmth on naked stomach and legs. A bed, good.

Slow breathing next to her, scent of sweat and sex lingering densely around them. Yet another nobody. Not good.

One lid carefully opened again, throbbing head turned towards the man lying next to her, deliberate not to make any noise, not to wake the unknown stranger by accident. Brief flashes of something like a hushed memory appeared in her weary head. Memories that couldn’t be any other then from yesterday evening, but still felt distant as from another lifetime.

A sob suddenly threatening to overwhelm her, desire to let it out, to pour it out, weeping away the disgusting hurt and loneliness of the morning. Her body aching for the lack of chemicals in her veins, precious poison that made her forget, allowed her to indulge in the blissful welcoming arms of oblivion.

Now cast out again, into this all-too warm bed next to an all-too foreign stranger.

A silent prayer sent that she had pleased him yesterday evening, for the week was almost over and she would be in dire need of some more of the delicious, delicious gift Caesar granted her – but only if she did well.

_Keep quiet. Be a good girl._

Still, sadness dominating, intoxicating emptiness, skin too small, flesh itching underneath, but fear keeping her quiet, conscientiousness keeping her still as she tried to capture the ragged pictures her mind threw at her; taunting desperation grasped at her, driving her mad when she could not figure them out entirely. She should be used to it by now, one should think.

The stranger shifted, mumbling nonsense into her ear, turning over, heavy arm crushing down upon her, unpleasant weigh pushing into her, skin too warm, too sticky upon her own.

Keeping quiet, keeping still.

Urge to rise, to free her, growing stronger, growing alluringly, and promising peace.

_Be a good girl, or Caesar will deny you your next dose!_

Lids pressed together tightly, mind wandering. Wandering away from the outrageous present into a blissful alternative, a vision of strong arms wrapped protectively around her, holding her close, a warm chest to snuggle against, steady breaths luring her into tender, soft sleep.

A world that belonged to her, and her alone; her lips twisted at the imagination of the agonizing phantasy. It was tempting, oh so tempting, to just keep her eyes closed and pretend the nobody next to her to be the one, she actually wanted to wake up next to.

Yet the man moved again, body leaning heavyly against her, already half-hard member pressed uncomfortably and demanding against the small of her back, destroying the mental landscape she had built. He awoke slowly, hands started exploring again, finding all the right and yet entirely wrong places, hands hot and sticky and unwelcome.

Lids kept closed, imagining _his_ strong, caring hands instead, _his_ delicious mouth pressed against her showcased throat.

 _Be good. Maybe Caesar will give you to_ him _again soon._

 _Be good, and you might be_ his _again._

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter I

 

 

 

 

The laboratories had always held a certain fascination for Timothy. The cold, artificial light that radiated from the ceiling, the low, distant hum from machines he couldn’t spot, and the persistent smell of formaldehyde and, well, death.

Though sometimes he wondered how the people working down here, for hours kept from fresh air and sunlight, could stand it without going crazy.

When he looked at the lean, black-haired woman, a red, sweet smelling lollipop in her mouth, humming happily along with the radio, as she bent over the body of the unlucky man on her table, he guessed they actually didn’t.

Not that he couldn’t stand the sight of a dead body. That would have made his job insufferable after all, but eating sweets while working next to them was beyond his understanding. His partner didn’t seem to share his considerations, or at least he didn’t show them, as he walked straight up to the pathologist.

“Found anything yet, Mia?” Joshua blurted, his voice hardly loud enough to be heard over the thudding music. He accidently startled the pathologist who apparently hadn’t noticed them entering before, but as soon as the woman, Mia he corrected himself, had calmed down again, she turned the volume down in an instant and shot Joshua an unhappy grin.

“Not much I could do to save him.” The woman attempted to joke, but went silent as soon as she noticed the gloom on Joshua’s face. She cleared her throat briefly as her eyes glanced over him quickly. Timothy had waited for Joshua to introduce them, but his partner obviously hadn’t thought about this basic formality.

“Hi Mia, I’m Timothy by the way, Joshua’s new partner. Pleased to meet you. I’ve started working here just recently, so we haven’t met yet, and since my delightful partner neglects to formerly introduce us…” Timothy realized he wouldn’t get an answer and suddenly felt slightly uncomfortable at the silence that emerged between them. The woman stared at him for a few seconds as if she couldn’t think of any reasons why he bothered to address her. Her pale blue eyes shot between him and Joshua a couple of times before she gave him a quick, uncertain seeming nod and proceeded with her case.

“The victim is male, around 35-40 but in really poor condition. I’d say he was on drugs for at least several months if not more. His veins are almost destroyed –“ Mia turned the man’s right armpit in their direction. The punctures covered almost his entire skin there and they had already turned the area darker and hardened it.

“And the left one looks even worse. That, additional to more calluses on his right hand, I assume he was right-handed. I already prepared and sent in a blood and urine sample, but that will take at least until tomorrow, then we’ll know for sure if he was drugged when murdered.”

“Let’s hope he was.” Timothy murmured. The wounds on the man’s wrists and feet definitely didn’t look as if he’d died painless.

Mia shook her head firmly, causing the raven strands to jump around her neck. “He definitely wasn’t drugged anymore when he finally died.”

Timothy frowned at her words as he couldn’t figure out what she meant.

“These wounds on his wrists and feet, where the nails were driven in to keep him attached to the cross: They’re distinctly older. Maybe two ‘til three days before he died. He must have lost quite an amount of blood from the wounds on his wrists, but they’re placed right next to the artery, so he didn’t die of it. Someone knew exactly what they were doing.”

Next to him Joshua let out a noise that sounded like mixture of a huff and a sigh. Timothy shot him a wondering look, but Joshua focused on the body lying on top of the dissection table. His face didn’t give away what he was thinking, only the dark brooding that he had shown all night.

“So, what _did_ he die of, then?” Timothy inquired, because he couldn’t see any other injuries.

“Thirst.” The single syllable trembled as Joshua barked it. Again, Timothy didn’t know what to make of it. His eyes darted between his partner and the young pathologist but neither of them seemed too eager to continue the conversation.

“He did, yes.” Mia confirmed, still avoiding eye contact with Joshua. Or him, for that matter, but she had done so before… To him, the pathologist didn’t seem to be especially familiar with the common etiquettes anyway. Starting with the lollipop she kept inside her mouth even while they were speaking to each other.

“They probably pinned him against the cross a few days before and let him where he was. They placed him on the bridge shortly after he died.” Timothy shook his head, confused by the whole story. “But, why?”

Mia inhaled to say something, but Joshua cut her off before. “To make a statement.” Mia closed her mouth again and nodded.

“It looks like it, yes.” Her eyes shot back to Joshua and lingered there for what was just a second too long. Timothy couldn’t tell why but to him the woman made the impression like she didn’t know either to say something or keep silent.

Joshua took the decision from her. “I’ve seen murders like this before. There was a whole series of them a few years ago. Some drug lords who think their dirty money can buy them out of law.” The man let out a strangled sigh. “I thought it was over.”

Mia shrugged and her gloved hands reached to open the victim’s mouth. “If you look at the Wanderer’s teeth – “

“Wait a sec, I… thought he didn’t carry any papers with him?” Timothy wondered. Mia’s bright eyes caught him in an instant as she smiled at him sheepishly. She gestured towards the radio that kept playing a playful tune on a lower volume.

“Well, he didn’t. But he needed a name – how else should I address him? – and last night I was listening to that song – you know that one from the singer Dion? In any case, he’s awesome, especially on that tour in 2012! I was in the front row and the crowd was super excited! And yeah, his most famous song he’s got, _The Wanderer_? You’ll catch it if you hear it, though. So… Yes, I guessed ‘The Wanderer’ is just as good as anything.” Timothy couldn’t bring himself to do much more than stare at her for a few seconds in astonishment over her sudden excitement.

What else should she address him? She actually _addressed_ the corpses she was working with?

He gave her a quick, half-hearted smile and implied her to continue what she wanted to show them, but didn’t listen close enough to follow her rambling about the rotten teeth of the victim. Now that he tried, he could remember the other cases. They had been all over the media, four maybe three years ago?

Timothy took a deep breath and straightened his back. He tried his best to ignore the stinging scent that permeated the lab and would probably sting to his clothes all day and focused on the pathologist’s explanation. He couldn’t quite tell, but something about this case felt rather odd.

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter II

 

 

 

Rebecca didn’t like this at all. Her jaw clenched at the sight of the opened newspaper, the picture on the front taking up most of the page.

“ **Crucifier back in DC** ” was written in bold, black letters, impossible to ignore. She hurried to screen through the page to find any evidence of where exactly it happened, but the article didn’t tell. Of course it wouldn’t, otherwise she would be the first to complain about it.

She silently cursed herself for not waking up last night when her phone had rang. Detective Chromwell’s name was staring accusingly at her. She should have been awake. She could have coordinated the case to someone else!

But instead she had been asleep. Safe and sound.

Rebecca’s legs threatened to give in; she crumpled down on her chair, her palms pressed soothingly against her temples. She needed to get going, make it to her office as soon as possible and take the case from Detective Cromwell before he got too investigated in it.

Who was she kidding, he would already be. Since they had seen the exact same thing three years ago…

 _No!_ Rebecca told herself. She would not allow him to pursue the case any further. She _was_ his boss after all! If she declared he couldn’t behave objectively on that case, he would be forced to drop it!

She stood up quickly to get herself ready for work as she recognized a shadow in the corner of her eye. For a second she considered reaching for her gun, lying right across on her desk.

“I would not try that. You would never be fast enough.” The man standing behind her had obviously guessed her plan. She didn’t had to turn around to know who had entered her apartment without permission. There weren’t many who would dare, and less who would succeed. Plus, the man’s deep, velvety voice was hard not to recognize.

“I should have known Caesar would send you.” She sighed, turning around to face her opposite slowly. She made sure her hands stayed relaxed where he could see them. She might be a trained police officer and quite skilled in dealing with perilous situations, but she knew when it was best to play along.

The man leaned almost casually against her bookshelf, one hand resting lightly on his thigh. But the radiant grey-blue eyes fixed on her face reminded her to stay on her guard. As if she’d ever needed to be reminded.

“I just heard about… it.” Her mouth went dry as she tried to find the right words. It couldn’t be a good sign if Caesar sent his Left Hand, instead of some lower lackey.

“You are a picture of perfect innocence, so to speak?” He hummed as he pushed off from the bookshelf. His steps towards her were slow and deliberate while his gaze stayed pinned on her. Rebecca cursed herself for the urge to back off from the man. She was a grown up woman and Captain of Washington’s major case victims unit. She was not supposed to step back from a common criminal!

Yet here she was, doing exactly that. The faint, black tattoo dominating the man’s face which accounted for his codename – a depiction of a skeletonized wolf jar – twisted as a smug grin appeared on his face. He was close now, near enough that she could smell his cologne, too deep and heavy for her taste.

“A little bird told me you gave the case to Detective Cromwell. Caesar is not very pleased.” The man’s voice stayed perfectly calm, even with his brows furrowed. Rebecca swallowed hard to clear her throat, definitely not trusting her voice right now.

“You angered him. And furthermore, me.” He _was_ close by now. Close enough to lift his hand and stroke with one, slender finger along the rough scar tissue on her cheek.

Rebecca bit the inside of her lips, even though she was aware he would notice, but she couldn’t care. The alternative would be to reach out and send him to the ground with one stroke of her fist.

“Have you forgotten how dangerous it can be to anger me?” Of course she hadn’t. Not with her empty apartment and her empty bed reminding her every evening when she returned home.

She hurried to shake her head, hating how submissive she must look right now. She didn’t even try to hide her disgust anymore. The man was well aware of her feelings towards him anyway.

“I won’t allow him to continue on this case. It was a mistake Detective Cromwell got it. I didn’t order him to the site of crime!” Rebecca hurried to tell, her tongue almost tripping over the words as she tried to get them out as soon as possible.

The man cocked his head, his hand now fully cupping her cheek. Towering almost one head above her, she could hardly deny him to be some kind of frightening. Her skin burned where his hand touched it, and all she could think of was to slap it off and beat that smug grin out of his face.

“I am pleased to hear it. And I am certain, your husband will as well. You know how much I detest to hurt innocent but useful agents.”

Finally, the man released her. Rebecca couldn’t withstand the drive to rub her own palm soothingly were his fingertips had dug into her skin.

“I won’t disappoint again.” She whispered, the disgust dense in her voice.

The man gave her a hinted nod and moved out through the door. Rebecca didn’t dare to follow immediately.

* * *

Joshua tried to brush off his self-consciousness as he walked straight up to Captain Adamowicz’s office door. This would have to be good. He wouldn’t get more than this one chance if he wanted to keep the case. And by God, he needed to!

He knocked sturdily at the wooden door and held his breath until he heard her rough voice from inside.

The Captain sat behind her desk, buried distinctly deep into a case, the paperwork shattered all over the desk.

She glanced up at him, and her weak attempt of a smile faltered in an instant as she must come to the realization that he was alone.

“Where’s your partner?” Rebecca asked, obviously trying to remain a stern expression.

“Still down in the lab.” Joshua shot the lie quickly. That he had actually ordered him not to follow into the Captain’s office was nothing of her concern. He needed to speak in private with her.

“The doc got some pretty interesting details, if you’d like to hear them.”

He already wanted to get on with his preliminary report, but the Captain cut him off before he could get started.

“That’s not why I wanted to see you.” She let out an annoyed sigh that resounded awkwardly loud in the tense silence of the room.

 _Here it comes._ Joshua thought to himself as he quickly rehearsed his argumentations again.

“Look, Joshua. You know I can’t allow you to keep that case."

Surely she would change into calling him by his forename. She always thought it would create a more comfortable atmosphere.

“This is like Marianne all over again. I can’t let you work on that in good conscience.”

Joshua felt his boss’ words like a punch in his guts. For a few seconds he was reduced to simply stare at her.

“Doctor Perlman ensured me, the victim showed signs of frequent drug abuse. We’ll have to wait for the official results, but his veins and his state of health…”

“We’re not drug division, Joshua. And that isn’t the point of it, either.” Joshua leant back and tried to relax his posture. He had expected to be called in sooner or later. He would handle this. He wouldn’t let anyone take this from him.

“This _is_ just like Marianne’s case, or am I not informed correctly?” The Captain’s voice pitched lower as she stared at him with that stern look of hers he disliked so much. He tried hard to keep up his appearance as Marianne’s name lingered in the air between them. Foolish enough, it still hurt to hear it.

“There are similarities but it  not her. The victim is just a stranger that I’ve never seen in my life before. No reason to withdraw me from the case.” Joshua could almost feel his broad smile wavering. This had sounded much more convincing in his head. The skeptical look the Captain shot him confirmed his thoughts.

“Look, boss. It’s like this: Back then the murders stopped right after we ended the drug war between those two fractions. So we thought that we killed whoever had been responsible during the mission. Now they started again. _I_ was the one responsible for the cases three years ago. Do you really expect me now to just sit back and watch? This isn’t just about Marianne, you know that. There were a whole series of them! That guy killed almost a dozen people! And now he is back! And you really want a personal affair be the reason to keep me from the case? I know the matter, I know the whole story! If anyone can catch this lunatic, it would be me! Do you really want to be the one responsible for even deaths?”

Though his little speech came out more or less the way he had intended it to, he felt a slight nervousness creeping up his stomach now, under the Captain’s disapproving look. _That_ had sounded much better when he practiced it earlier, too!

“You’re blunt enough to tell me, _I am_ the one who can’t be objective in that matter? As if I wouldn’t know you have had your nose buried in Marianne’s investigation during your forced vacation, no matter what I have told you?” _Well great_. Joshua congratulated himself to successfully disgruntling his boss when he needed her to cooperate and listen to him. The Captain was definitely at the edge now, with her eyes glazing at him and her posture build up threatening behind the heavy, wooden desk.

Not much he could do about it now. Still, his last resort was a dangerous one. He could lose his job if she wanted him to. Or, she would see reason and let him do his work and maybe finally give him a chance to hunt down the bastard that had murdered the woman he loved.

“I really have hoped you’d understand. You of all people.” Joshua switched into a disappointed, lower voice as he leaned back in his chair. He kept his eyes fixed on the distinct red pattern on the Captain’s right cheek. There weren’t many of his colleagues who knew the story behind the scar, but he did. And he knew she would, self-conscious as she seemed to be about her harmed skin, recognize his staring.

“You know, since we were never able to track down _your_ husband’s murderer either.” Joshua noticed the sharp inhale, the sudden tension of her body. He didn’t like to pursue, but he hardly had any choice. He needed to keep that case!

At least, he seemed to have accomplished his primary goal: The Captain definitely looked troubled now, and far less confident than before. Even though Joshua hadn’t expected her to look that… agitated? Well, the better for him anyway.

“Please boss! You know I’m doing good work! And I won’t let what happened to my… to Marianne cloud my judgement!” He knew he sounded more begging than he was supposed to be. The Captain could be a tricky one to read at some times. He just hoped he was pulling the right strings.

“I can’t let you work on that case, Joshua. I’m sorry.” Joshua’s hands balled into fists at the unwelcoming words. “You will be withdrawn from that case and leave it to your partner. Understood?” The nails dug into his palm, causing little, sharp pains that kept him from yelling at her.

The Captain had turned her look from him and stared at the papers in front of her again. _Go away_ , it meant. Joshua’s thoughts tumbled quickly through his mind as he tried to find something else to say, anything to convince her. He couldn’t… He rose and headed for the door before he could do something unreasonable. Like yell. Or worse.

“Officially.”

The syllables hung densely in the air between them.

The doorknob already in his hand, he turned around. The Captain had her head still lowered and kept looking at her papers as if they’d contain something utterly interesting.

“Just don’t make it obvious, alright? Detective de Moray is the one investigating. You’re not questioning anybody, you have no access to the files. But, if de Moray is in need of some friendly advice, you would certainly not turn him down. Understood?”

Joshua nodded, relief flooding through his veins as he left the office without another word. He didn’t want to test his luck any further.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter III

  


Mia took a deep breath and straightened her hair with a few quick strokes of her fingers before she knocked firmly on the wooden door. She waited for two, three seconds, as she listened closely if there was an answer to be heard. But the door remained silent.

She tried again, more insistent this time. And indeed, there was a weak mutter from the other side. Mia opened and took a first, hesitant step inside.

The heavy air from the inside of the office met her with the moisture of too much alcohol and not enough venting.

Joshua sat bent over his desk, his face buried in his palms. The bottle Mia knew he kept hidden in his drawers was standing half-empty beside him; a thin trace of spilled liquor stained the papers he had placed it on carelessly. He didn’t seem to have noticed her.

Mia shut the door behind her quietly before she approached his desk. As usual it was remarkably messy, a bold contrast to the tidy-well-kept surface of his absent partner’s he shared his office with.

She circled around the two desks and leaned against the wood, her arms crossed with unease in front of her chest.

Although she was certain Joshua must have noticed her by now, he denied to say something to her or even look at her. The silence between them spread, and with each passing second Mia knew less what she was supposed to say.

It was a relief as Joshua finally straightened his back and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. A short, murmured curse was all he said.

“You alright?” She asked, still uncertain of how she was expected to act. Ever since she had started working at the department, they’d never been this…. emotional around each other. Him being a little tipsy, was nothing new, but usually Joshua’s eyes weren’t reddened with uncried tears.

For another few idle seconds he didn’t respond. Then he slowly shook his head, a confession of his own weakness she hadn’t seem from him before. But his lips were still pressed together tightly.

Mia let out a deep wary sigh. This wouldn’t be easy. She shortly considered to give him a brief pat on the shoulder and leave him to indulge in his nostalgia. Her glance switched back to the golden whiskey next to him and discarded her plan again.

“I read about what happened to Marianne. Three years ago, in the _Post_.” She waited to see if Joshua would object her broaching the subject or if he would even react in any way at all.

He didn’t. He simply stared into a distance Mia couldn’t tell.

“It was like with the Wanderer, right?” Joshua reached for the glass with a lurch and swallowed the remaining liquor, an unexpected movement that almost startled her. He nodded, weak, but at least a sign he hadn’t drunk himself into a stupor just yet.

He slammed the glass back on the desk. Mia could see the sinews emerged under the stubble of his throat as he gritted his teeth.

_Screw it._

They were both bad with words, Joshua because of the whiskey, herself, well because she simply was. There were different ways in any case.

Mia reached for the wooden picture frame and turned it around. The smiling woman with the dark sparking eyes, holding the small, curly-haired infant in her arms wasn’t something Joshua should be looking at after what had happened today. The picture couldn’t have been taken long before Marianne’s murder.

Mia shied away from the unpleasant thought. With one hand she captured Joshua’s jaw as she ordered him to move his chair back for a bit, just enough that she could straddle his lap. The rough stubble felt familiar against her palms, unlike that look of sadness and need his eyes displayed so clearly.

_Maybe this isn’t the best idea._

The thought crossed her mind, but she pushed it aside quickly. After all, Joshua was one of the few people she could even come to consider as a friend. If she could offer him any kind of consolation, she was more than happy to give.

Mia bent over to replace her fingers by her lips, tracing soft, lingering kisses along his cheeks, unusually warm against her mouth from the alcohol. Both hands buried in his short, brown hair she pulled his head back to expose his throat so she could continue, careful not to leave any marks above the collar.

Under her lips she could feel a moan emerging, but Joshua held it back and instead pulled her into a deep, intense kiss, a clash of tongues and lips that left her panting for air.

“Joshua, wait a second.” She tried to back off, but he only growled in response and kept his adamant grip around her as he searched for her mouth again.

“Joshua, the door – “She managed to remind him as she pulled back again to catch her unsteady breath. _That_ got his attention.

Mia climbed down his chair and headed over to the office door. The soft click of the key being turned around in the lock resounded heavily in their silence.

She closed the distance between them again and this time Joshua reached for her actively. His arms closed around her waist as she sat down again. She pulled him closer and stroked gently across his back. His breath tickled against the sensitive skin above her collarbone, still unsteady but he kept quiet.

They sat there, just sat. Until her caressing hands seemed to have calmed him enough to lift his head again. His face hovered in front of her. She waited for him to make the first move – the last thing she wanted was to push him into anything he didn’t want right now.

Joshua looked at her with narrowed eyes as if he didn’t know what to make of their situation either. But then he captured her lips with his own, slow and deliberated this time. Mia leaned closer until their bodies nearly touched. His tongue pushed into her mouth again, softly toying with hers as their kisses deepened again.

Joshua’s hand started moving again, wandering from her waist up towards her back, her shoulders, her neck, exploring at first, but quickly turning more demanding, strong fingers that dug into her flesh and shoved her down on his lap.

The hard outline of his cock pressed firmly against the lower of her tight. Mia answered him gladly, arousal sparking through her, left breathless by their eager kisses and the need that hid behind his passion.

Her fingers struggled with the buttons of his shirt, impatient to feel bare, heated skin against her own, until he pushed her hands aside, stripped the fabric over his head and tossed it aside. Mia’s shirt followed shortly afterwards and she couldn’t bring herself to care where it had landed, not with his hand in her hair, forcing her to arch her back like this, her hardened nipples exposed to him and helpless to the pleasure his lips and fingertips closing around them drew from her.

She tried to hide the noises escaping her by biting her lip until she felt a hint of the stinging taste of copper in her mouth. She ground her ass against his stirring erection and yes, that caused the reaction she wanted!

Joshua’s hand stopped toying around and reached down to grip the back of her tights firmly, massaging them roughly before he let his hand slip underneath her skirt. His fingertip found her pulsating clit under the thin, wetted fabric of her panties and started to press against it without any more teasing, circling it along with the steady rhythm Mia moved her hips against him.

Hoarse moans filled the silence between them, small noises that only intoxicated Mia even more, every single one of Joshua’s groans vibrating on his tongue against her nipple. Already she could feel herself nearing her climax, just by the few, intense touches and the interruptions of the previous times, her tights already jolting out of her control and the white-hot pleasure coiled in her center.

Just as Joshua stopped and removed himself. Mia cried out form the sudden loss as he ordered her to lift a little so he could free himself from the narrowness of his jeans. Mia attempted to slide from his lap on her knees to take him into her mouth, to give back some of the pleasure he had granted her before, but his determinant growl objected to her plan. Instead she took a step back and shoved her panty down and tossed it aside.

Joshua fumbled in his pockets for a condom and cursed heavily as he couldn’t find it right away. Mia run her hand over his length and started teasing again; one steady stroke, then another. She smeared the bit of precum on his tip with her thumb, delighted by the broken moans it drew from him.

Joshua shoved her hand away again to put on the rubber with quick, trained movements. He didn’t lose another second and lunged at her again, a sloppy, messy kiss as Mia aligned him to her entrance and lowered herself down on him until he was all the way inside of her.

The sudden pressure against her inside left her panting for air for a split second before she started to resume her rhythm again, rising and falling onto his hard cock and ignoring the throbbing between her own legs for now. She wanted to take care of him thoroughly first.

Mia increased her pace steadily, rolling her hips faster, their rhythm growing more intense and deepened as Joshua started thrusting along with her. She could tell he wouldn’t last long like this, with his breath fitful and his movements less coordinate.

She let go of his shoulders with one hand to press it against her clit again, certain it wouldn’t take her long to reach her climax either, not with him hitting the sweet spot inside her with every rise and fall of her hips.

“Marianne.”

The whisper, barely audible, blown by heavy sticky breath warm against her ear was enough to shatter every tiny bit of lust inside of her. Mia froze for a second before she rallied again and continued in their rhythm.

The pleasure, though, was gone.

It wasn’t like this had never happened before, especially when he was a little tipsy and lonely like this.

And still.

It shouldn’t hurt her, but deep down it did.

She gripped his shoulders with both hands again. Not long until the series of broken moans spilled from his parted lips, his body tensioning underneath her, before he collapsed and rested his forehead against her shoulder.

Mia swallowed hard, then lifted her body again to help him withdraw his softening cock carefully. She tossed the used rubber into the trash can next to them. They needed to remember to take it out before everybody came back to work in the morning.

Indecisively she stood in front of him. He looked all lost and sad now that she focused on it again. Mia stepped closer once more and slung her arms around his neck. Her hands started to comb through his hair as he finally let go.

His tears were silent, but she could feel them wetting her bare skin. She placed a soft kiss upon his scalp.

“It’s going to be alright.” She whispered against the softness of his hair, knowing what she said didn’t matter after all.

 

  


  


  


  



	5. Chapter IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:  
> Detailled description of graphic violence, gore and non-con elements...  
> 

 

 

 

One of those days again.

A day with the sun’s light falling in golden gleam through the large windows, polished until clean as a whistle. A sweet silence filled the empty room, the kind of silence that could only emerge if one became aware of how delightful the absence of people could be.

Rachel lifted her gaze from the book she was reading – _Tender as the night_ by Francis Scott Fitzgerald – and looked around, a smile on her lips at the peaceful feeling. Although small, her chambers were tidy and neat. At least they were _hers_.

_More or less._

The unwelcomed thought was pushed aside with a harsh shake of her head for she would not allow such poisonous thoughts to spoil those precious hours that belonged to her and her alone.

With a fleeting sigh she surrendered to the mercilessly ticking clock that scolded her for prolonging instead of preparing for tonight. Thus, she set the book aside, one longing look as she wished for the next hours to already have passed, to be allowed to drown herself in the pages, filled with those sweet imaginative words.

Her bathroom was moderate in comparison to the one she owned when she had still been living with her family, but she had ensured it to be well stocked, with soft white towels in the cupboards and sweet scenting luxuries on the shelf above the bathtub.

Practiced hands reached for the expensive makeup next to the large, lighted mirror as she began covering her face with the deluding mask of powders and colors. A sad smile hovered around her curved lips as she wished herself _farewell_ with every inch of her vanishing under the charade she pretended to be.

Rachel took a small step back and eyed herself for a few seconds, satisfied to find her skin smooth and even again and her golden eyes accented enough to feign them shining like in early days. Yet she had eschewed from using too much rouge for she knew how fond Caesar was of her pale complexion.

She loosened her ponytail and weighed the white blonde strands in her hands. Pinned-up today? Something more natural? After quick contemplation she reached for the straightening iron and mindfully erased every playful curl until they fell flat and plain along her painted face.

Another glance at the ticking clock made her heart cheer and flutter in her chest as the metal device confirmed that yes, it was about time – finally! – again.

Along with a jolly hum on her lips she gathered her equipment, a languorous thrill running down her spine as she reached for the small parcel containing the luscious drug and placed it carefully in the middle of the small table. The world seemed to narrow around it, made it the center of her universe as anticipation let her heart jump in delight.

The sharp stinging scent of alcohol clung to her nose as she cleaned herself, preparing her body for the sublime sacrament it was about to receive. Heating the powder carefully, melting it on the polished metal, diligent not to miss the blistering of the exquisite liquid, she pulled up the syringe and held it close to her eyes. She flicked her fingers against the brittle glass, marveling at the uprising bubbles within, before pushing up the plunger to let the remaining air escape.

Her heartbeat fastened along with the light pounding in the fragile vein on her left foot, dark and bulged up under the pale skin.

She smiled back at it wistfully as she remembered how she once sat and studied exactly those filigree complexes of veins, nerves, sinews and bones for anatomy class, chaste times in which she had neglected the benefits this knowledge could grant to those courageous enough.

A wince of her wrist.

Metal goring through papery skin.

A hiss of air through gritted teeth, facing the stinging distress.

Yet her hands remained steady, calm. The pain, grown into a matter of habit over the years, was easily ignored and – by all means – a small enough price to pay. Already fading seconds after as the rousing rush of pleasure hits her, mind and body, distinctive taste filling mouth and throat, radiating, intoxicating her mind. A groan in ecstasy almost missed to hear as the warmth spread, luring her into the heady sweetness.

Like nectar.

Like angels.

A row of deep breaths, the calming feeling settling softly, consoling blankets wrapping around her shoulders, soothing her in comfortable friendliness.

Yet not as good as the glorified memory of the first time.

Ever since chasing after the once-tasted euphoria – yet never quite reaching it, always only foreboding, scenting it.

_Well, one must take what one could get._

Rachel was aware of tonight’s character.

This would have to be sufficient.

 

* * *

 

She knew these kind of events all too well. It was the ‘seeing and being seen’ – kind of festivity that Caesar loved to host. A small theater hall, a cozy, pretty restaurant, whatever the circumstances demanded. An ordinary suitcase, filled with dirty dead presidents passed over to the owner, maybe accompanied with one of the girls, and soon no one denied Caesar to take whatever he wished to.

Rachel smiled sweetly at the mustachioed man by her side as she played her wicked game of pretending, just as Caesar had instructed her to. Clients important enough to let Caesar release his favorite pet from his side, were not precisely frequent. Their guest from Vegas must be of utter importance to the organization, or Caesar would not have arranged to this gathering, let alone granting him the privilege of her company.

But oh, what kind of gathering it was! The snug, small entrance hall of the theatre was decorated in the particular reluctance that displaced power although it attempted to hide it. In her years she had witnessed many faces growing wide in awe and astonishment on their first encounter with the power their leader wielded. It was due to her families sophisticated social status she herself had never been such a naïve – from her childhood on accustomed to the kind of ostentatious profundity the wealthy used to show towards those they assumed to be less well-heeled.

Everyone was standing in small groups at the bar tables, covered with ornamented, white table cloths and decorated by thick, crimson candles, flickering unaffected by the keen atmosphere.

She, just like Caesar’s other girls, was instructed to especially care for their guests from Vegas tonight, integrating them into the shallow chitchat permeating the room, allowing everybody to hide their insecurities and inmost loneliness for one evening under pretended joy, as opulent as their wardrobe.

Her arm linked gracefully into the man’s as he offered it with a self-evidence as only the powerful could develop and let him guide her towards their seats, front row, centered. Mr. House right beside Caesar, his Right Hand’s usual place, abandoned for now as she would direct tonight’s show. A fact Rachel was aware of with distinct unease.

And even though her mind told her not to peer at the other place next to Caesar, her eyes disobeyed. Yet she assumed the mental punch that cramped her insides to be a decent enough punishment, when she found it empty and with it, all of a sudden the whole theater felt hollow, as if the absence of one person could deny the chattering, cheerful crowd its exhausting presence.

A stupid thought, and a foolish one of course, for it was of utmost certainty that _he_ would attend their gathering tonight. And even though she might not become _his_ tonight, no one could ban them from seeing each other. Not even the dull, persistent talk of the conceited gentleman she was disposed to please tonight.

Fortunate enough, the lights soon began to dim, directing the common attention towards the heavy, red fabric of the grand drape, which was enough to distract her attendant. The silence that spread over the seats still astonished Rachel in its velocity. She assumed everyone’s problems of any kind whatsoever would dwindle in the presence of the man who they all depended on.

When Caesar stepped down the now lightened hallway, his shoulders low and relaxed as his pace, a benevolent smile on hardly curved lips. Rachel let herself get carried along with the faceless crowd as she rose from her seat and mouthed the _Ave Caesar!_ along with the others and first dared to sit down again after Caesar had sat down on his rightful place. Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed her attendant to exchange the necessary vacuous cordialities, those which rivals used to do when they attempted to fold and collaborate. The seat to Caesar’s left still remained empty, though.

With a distinct clack that cut through the cacophony of whispers and idle gossip that had emerged the last lights lapsed. The dark, deep red of the drape now casting back the spotlight, a keen assault to the eyes.

Rachel recognized the woman stepping onto the stage in an instant, just as she imagined every soul who was ever forced to writhe underneath these darting grey eyes would do as well. Caesar’s Right Hand was not a woman to be forgotten easily. Even now, dressed in the wide, brown fur coat and smiling charmingly against the keen crowd, Rachel could recall the feeling of being examined mercilessly by the adamant steel all too vividly. Despite her opulent use of make-up – with lips in deep shades of red and her eyes darkened – she had left the scar flaunting in the middle of her forehead uncovered, too proud of what it represented to her.

Mr. House leaned in closer, steamy breath against her neckline, causing horripilation to arise on the surrounding.

“What’s with that scar on her forehead? It looks rather… It must be fake, right?“

Rachel gave her attendant a glimpse from the corner of her eyes, yet shifted her attention back to the stage as courtliness demanded when she answered him, her voice marginally loud enough to be audible.

“As a matter of fact, it is not. Once, our oh mighty Caesar’s Right Hand has been nothing but a prostitute, owned by a man who used to be our Imperator’s opponent. Yet, unlike our beloved Leader, the Right Hand’s master was a cruel man. He mistreated his substitutes frequently, as he did with the Right Hand. One day she had incurred her former master’s wrath by revolting against his authority. Wherefore he had ordered to have her executed. She survived, though – as you did well notice.“

The corners of her mouth jerked a little at the thought of it. For all the woman’s flaws – her story surely was an imposing one.

“After her unlikely survival, the Right Hand raged against her former master, stirring Caesar’s attention. He offered her a place in his ranks instead – on her free will. Needless to say, she accepted his generous offer. It was only a few months until she found her former master and executed him. For taking his opponent down, our mighty Caesar rewarded her with making her his Right Hand. I understand she wears her scar openly since then, as a badge of pride.”

Rachel heard her attendant shifting in his seat beside her, out of uncomfortableness she assumed.

“Impressive story. But no one survives being shot in the head. That’s why people aim for it!”

Such lack of basic anatomic knowledge never ceased to astonish her.

“One can, and a few did – as far as we know. If hit in the right ankle – leaving the brainstem untouched but only seaming the frontal lobe, as it had happened in Lisa’s case – and additionally without harming one of the bigger blood vessels like for example the _Arteria cerebri anterior_ , chances are one _can_ indeed survive such a lesion. And besides –”

Rachel bit down on her tongue – sharp, sudden pain jolting trough her nerves – to stop herself from rambling, since those details would not be of interest for her attendant. Thus she faked the naïve-looking smile again as to recant her explanation and submitted into her precast role.

“Ladies and gentleman. It’s my pleasure to welcome you today to this little _spectaculum_.” The smile of the Right Hand flashed up shortly; a smile so cold that Rachel asked herself yet again if anyone actually believed it. She, at least, could not spot even a trace of joy in Lisa’s monotonous, stern voice – not to mention _pleasure_!

“Since we’re allowed to welcome some very special guests tonight, our beloved Dictator Caesar –“ Lisa implied a deferential bow towards him, which certainly was the most submissive gesture Rachel had ever witnessed from the woman. “– asked me to introduce you to some of our methods.”

The woman shrugged out of her imposing coat and tossed the expensive fabric aside without even looking, revealing a pair of dark, leathern trousers and a simple top, both clinging tightly against her body, as they exposed her clear outlined muscles underneath her tanned skin. The heavy, black boots accented every step she took with a harsh knock as she started circling the broad stage, her motions tense and considered; they urged to remind Rachel to Rilke’s description of _The Panther_.

As the drapes parted, they revealed a kneeling man, his utterly naked body emaciated enough to see the fine lines of his muscles underneath his unhealthy tainted skin. The man’s bearded head had fallen down on his chest, sparsely covered by already greying curls. His whole sunken posture a portrayal of the pain he must have suffered through by now. A faint dizziness clouded Rachel’s mind as she struggled with the unwelcome thoughts of what was yet to happen to the poor man.

“This scum you see here before me, started working for our organization about half a year ago. A small dealer, no one important. Then I found out that –“

The heavy thuds of a different pair of well-known army boots suddenly filled the otherwise quiet theatre, forcing Rachel to close her eyes for just a blink of a moment to adjust her delighted features into a detached mask again.

“Along with the diligent assistance of your esteemed associates.”

As always _he_ had caught just the trice to draw the concentrated attention, when everyone had started wondering of why the Right Hand had stopped in her explanation.

The shiver the deep velvety voice sent down her spine made Rachel bite her tongue to hide it, until a distant taste of copper roamed her mouth. She knew _he_ would come!

The glance Lisa hurled at the man, seating himself on Caesar’s left, was wrathful enough to make Rachel herself uncomfortable, even without being the targeted one. She assumed the rest of the gathered crowd to feel akin.

Yet, the preposterous jolt of pride shot through her as she eyed the man’s assertive features. The sweet secret knowledge connecting both of them blooming blandly within her, granting her a whit of consolation on this dreadful evening.

“Who’s that guy? His lateness will be punished, I hope?” Mr. House’s whispered words crept into her ears, unsolicited and redundant, an unpleasant reminder of her duties for tonight.

“Considering his position as Caesar’s Left Hand, he will presumably be forgiven rather quickly.” Rachel replied, anxious not to showcase too much, yet enough to reassure her attendant.

As Mr. House faced the stage again, Rachel noticed Lisa’s steady voice filling the hall once more, though the world felt dim now, fogged and hazy, with her heart pounding surreally loud within her ears.

With a somewhat more focused attentiveness she caught Lisa’s explanation of the captive’s background, indistinctively evoking a clouded shred of memory from when _he_ had told her about one of their men being an informant sent by the local police. Whom he then had fed with bits and pieces of wrong information until the man tightened the noose around his own neck more and more. A weak, wavering whiff of pity for the poor policeman rose in the back of her mind, but was silenced quickly. One could only see so much cruelty in one’s life before it became dull in its own repellent way.

And still, the grumbling nausea began to rise as soon as Lisa started what she in her perversion called _a show_. The man’s horrifying scream cut through Rachel’s absent mind as soon as the first sharp metal hook was driven into the tenuous flesh on his arms.

Caesar’s Right Hand silenced her victim with an echoing slap across his face; the sound of it pierced sharply through the attached murmur of approval that roamed through the crowd.

“You all see how talkative he is?” Lisa had faced her audience again, the smallest smirk lingering on her lips one that Rachel had seen too often for her liking. Hardly more than a jerk of her mouth’s corners, yet this time an honest one.

“But I’ve grown so used to his screams!” Alarmingly, the woman’s monotonous voice only seemed to come to life in situations such like these. Lisa reached out to almost fondle the trickling blood from where the firm hook had pierced the man’s flesh, before she dug her short, red-painted fingernails into the wound.

The prisoner’s body tightened again, even though he kept silent, and the hall with him; only the jerky, ragged breathing falling from his bitten lips disclosed his pain.

“Such a good boy.” Lisa had bowed down to bring her mouth closer to the captive’s ear, but her voice was still loud enough to be audible to the audience, the completely inappropriate use of praise resounded wickedly within Rachel’s ears.

Lisa took a step back from her victim to rummage through the metal devices on the table to her side again, until she reached out for a second hook, equivalent to the one that already hung from the man’s worn out flesh.

This time Rachel tried to prepare herself for the horrible scream that followed immediately after the Right Hand drove the sharp metal into the flesh of the man’s second arm. Still, she squirmed a little, which Mr. House seemed to have interpret as an invitation to lay his fingers on her thighs, causing yet another wave of discomfort.

 _I could have it worse_.

She reminded herself as the proof for her thoughts crumbled onto the floor of the stage, but still denying to surrender. Through gritted teeth he spat towards the blonde woman. “Whore” – one single syllable that only earned him another slap across his face.

Blood trickled from the man’s nose and coated his lips. The unsolicited fingers on her thigh started moving.

Lisa held up a remote, visible to everyone in the audience. The fingers started wandering upwards.

Rachel smiled sheepishly at her attendant despite her revulsion, after all this was what she was supposed to do – no matter if the sticky fingers caused her stomach to twist in discomfort. She was relieved when she realized the man was pretending to be very obtained by the show, keeping his gaze locked at Caesar’s Right Hand, and thus allowing her to lean back and endure the display of cruelty upon the stage as well as the unpleasantness her duty brought along, saving her from the effort of acting out pleasure.

With the remote in her hand, Lisa lowered a construction attached to the ceiling of the stage; thick steel chains were lowered slowly – slowly enough for the poor man to imagine what the woman was about to let him endure.

As soon as the construction was in the right position, Lisa linked the chains to the two hooks pierced through the man’s muscles. Rachel could imaging vividly what would come next, but couldn’t restrain herself from a sharp hiss, a sound that her attendant seemed to misinterpreted as an invitation.

She closed her eyes as she acted as if enjoying the creeping fingers that brushed away the soft fabric of her dress. Like this, she couldn’t see how the chains were pulled up again, though the squeaking sound they made left nothing to her imagination, as well as the ragged cry as the metal inside the prisoner’s body lifted him from the ground, ripping on the worn out muscles.

Her lids shot up again as the intrusive fingers brushed against her clothed entrance, nervously wetting her lips in the safety of the knowledge that her attentive would understand it in a rather different way. Pretending to like what she secretly detested had never come easily to her, yet with the macabre display of cruelty in front of her it seemed even more challenging.

Despite knowing what she would have to expect, the sight of the twisted body clenched her insides. With his own body weight being too much for his sinews and joints, both of the poor man’s shoulders must have been dislocated by now. Rachel could only come to imagine the anguish of it.

The woman on the stage tugged a strand of strawberry blonde hair that had fallen into her face back behind her ears before she languidly picked another tool from her small table. The police’s informant looked at the sharp piece of metal with in horror widened eyes. He struggled within his chains, but only drove the hooks deeper into his flesh. Forced to balance on the balls of his feet he looked miserable, a display of helplessness.

“Because of Mr. Monroe’s foolishness some of our people got into trouble. And we don’t take it easy when our people are endangered.”

Her attendant’s fingers found her clit the second Lisa drove the shimmering metal above the man’s chest.

_One with a sense for the dramatic._

Rachel concluded wearily. At least, this would allow her to predict his future assaults.

She focused on the red blood that trickled down from the man’s chest, were his nipple had still been seconds before.

“Some of those we lost because of that bag of scum here, weren’t very important.” The scalpel scrubbed over the second nipple and the man bit back a scream, presumably to deny Lisa the satisfaction, but Rachel could sense he would not be able to continue so for much longer.

“Or so you might have thought. Do you also think it’s unimportant if you lose another redundant body part?”

The woman’s smile widened as she flicked the scuzzy piece of skin in his direction, where it stuck to his messy beard, although the man did not seem to notice – or to care. Rachel assumed by now there would be nothing left within the man mind but the exuding pain.

“Some of the losses were more important, efficient people who did great in their jobs.”

The cumbersome finger started circling.

Lisa’s scalpel tasted the skin on the side of the man’s head as it gnawed its way through the cartilage of his ear. The agonized sound that emerged from his throat made the hair on her arms stand on end. He tried to arch his back, a reflex to endure the ache, but the metal suspension only worsened his pain.

“Isn’t it a pity to lose something so important, Mr. Monroe?”

The man lifted his head to look into the woman’s eyes. His lips twitched as he tried to spit at her, yet failed, too weak to fully control himself. The strip of saliva dripped from his lips, containing a small string of red, as it left a slobby trace upon his chin.

“Alright, then… Maybe there are other parts of your body you like a little more!”

The woman continued with her disgusting show, changing the scalpel against a new, sharp one after every few cuts. One finger jumped from its joint with a distinct sound, before it ended neglected in the growing stains of blood that formed on the ground underneath the man. A stripe of muscles was ripped from his shank. A thick piece of skin from the man’s belly followed.

The vile finger circled in a sluggish rhythm along.

When Lisa cupped her left hand around the man’s balls, he was already reduced to a whimpering mess. His head was hanging, too weak to hold it lifted up anymore.

“That’s what you wanted to do to us: Rip us apart, one by one, bleed us dry, until we were too exhausted to defend ourselves.” With a sharp turn of her wrist Lisa turned the man’s scrotum, causing a jarring scream, the first since what seemed like a long silence only filled with groans and whimpers.

“And still you can’t shut your fucking mouth!”

Lisa reached for a new scalpel while she held the man in her iron grip.

“A shame you won’t make it long after the next one. I’m kind of used to you weeping like a little girl by now.”

The impending threat seemed to revive the man’s spirits again, as he began to curse and insult her. Rachel bit back a groan, did she knew after all that behavior such as his would do nothing but spur the gruesome woman even more.

The circling finger increased its pressure again, rubs beginning to sting with discomfort from the overstimulation. Her teeth dug into the soft flesh of her tongue so as to divert her thoughts from the distress between her thighs.

The blade tasted flesh again, drawing a high-pitched squeal from the man, when Lisa castrated him with a smile upon her lips, one which Rachel could only describe as amused – a smile that almost made her flinch in loathing.

Out of the corners of her eyes she could sense a heavy gaze resting upon her, and although she did not dare to let her glance stray from the horror playing out on the stage, she knew that if she would, she would see _him_ watching them, grey-blue eyes in a sharp-cut face with distinct, black lines adorning his elegant curved jawline.

The urge to close her eyes and flee from this moment – this whole situation – grew vigorously within her, yet she struggled to keep up appearance, to ignore the mortifying opprobrium of displaying the good whore, pretending to enjoy a suitor’s touch under the eyes of the one she loved.

With her hand still holding the repellent, blood-stained scrotum, Lisa dug her fingers into the man’s dark, straggly hair and yanked his head back.

The pressure the fingertips caused on her clit intensified again. Rachel prepared herself, drawing her breaths in a little sharper, moving her hips in the slightest way against the friction. Bit her lower lip as if to contain a row of filthy moans she was relieved not to have to fake for this time.

“It has been a pleasure, Mr. Monroe.”

Lisa thrust her knife into the man’s exposed throat, an obscene second red mouth that screamed gargling and accusing towards the eager crowd.

Rachel let go of her lip and opened her mouth as if to a wordless outcry, while she tensed her muscles, shoving her hips against the pressuring fingers as she pretended to ride on her climax, praying for her display to be sufficient. Her cheeks were flushed and burning in humiliation as she felt _his_ grey-blue gaze diverging from her again.

From half-closed lids she could see how Lisa reached into the opened, blood-sopping throat and dragged out the tongue through the section.

A grisly mocking of a neck tie, protruding towards them.

The silence lingered above them for one everlasting second, before the thunderous applause came down on the blonde woman. Rachel felt her center being freed again from the hot, sticky hand.

A broad smile hovered on Lisa’s bloodied lips when she dropped a curtsey and the deep red curtains fell.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well then... Please don't try this at home ;)  
> Torture scene's inspired by [x](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lingchi) and [x](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Colombian_necktie)


	6. Chapter V

  


  


“You know, I really don’t see why I’m the one to fetch all those heavy filing folders from downstairs!” Timothy dropped the unwieldy ring binders onto their desk with a small huff. Of course his partner gave no answer.

Timothy guessed he couldn’t actually expect one from a man he had found passed out on the office’s sofa this morning. And who smelled like he’s had a serious conversation with a liquor bottle last night.

“You know, since the elevator is still broken, and there are a lot of stairs…”

Silence.

“… and considering you’re not even involved in the case, officially –“

“Exactly, I’m not. So I don’t have access to the files. You have. So you fetch them. Discussion settled.”

Timothy congratulated himself for coaxing at least some kind of reaction.

His compassion for his hung-over colleague was somewhat limited, though. Who drank himself into a stupor like this when there was a case as important as this waiting for them?

“I still think it’s unnecessary to go through all these paper files, instead of just using the digital ones! It was only one minor mistake and –“

“No, it wasn’t.”

Timothy glanced at his partner quickly, but Joshua kept his brooding gaze on the opened document lying before him.

“There was absolutely no reason that this beheading-case we found was given to Detective Vael and Hendyr.”

Finally, he looked up, a bitter expression all over his face.

“Beheading, Timothy. In the fucking 21st century? Everybody around here knows Vael and Hendyr are morons, barely talented enough to manage to not get fired! There was no reason why a case such as this should be transferred to these jackleg idiots and kept hidden from the rest of us!”

He massaged the bridge of his nose with two digits.

“So, either there’s a mistake in the digital files, or I start doubting Captain Adamowicz’s judgement. So, we check the paper files. Agreed?”

Timothy nodded, quietly venerating Joshua’s ability to form coherent sentences in his current state of a subsiding hang-over.

“That’s all well and good, but… We’re up for crucifixions, remember? Quite the difference from –“

“Damn it, de Moray, make up your mind! That beheaded guy: Former drug user, known for minor crimes with dealing and killed within the time period in which the drug war in 2013 had reached its climax – in a most unusual way. Might not be crucifixion, but come on – they couldn’t kill everybody that way.”

Timothy exhaled slowly trying to keep his temper. There was more to it than just a series of old cases, wasn’t it? This was indeed personal. The Captain hadn’t withdrawn him from the case officially without reason.

“Alright. Let’s assume those were the same suspects who were responsible for the crucifixions – and let’s ignore the fact that I could think of at least a dozen easier ways to kill someone than by _beheading_ , for God’s sake! – why does it bother you so much that the case was given to them instead of you? You _were_ after all pretty busy with your crucifixion-cases, weren’t you?”

Joshua buried his face in his palms and rubbed them against his eyes exhausted.

“It’s not only that one guy – have a look at this.” Joshua handed the folder he’d been working on over to Timothy. He took it and quickly screened through the pages: A jogger coming across something that resembled a newly built mass burial site, with Roman standards placed on it.  
Passed over to two detectives, called Stannard and Samson. The case had been closed unsolved about three months later.

“I assume these two aren’t the brightest, either?” He asked Joshua, his eyes lingering absently on the two detectives’ names.

“That’s just the point.” Joshua leaned over to tap his fingertip on Detective Stannard’s name that Timothy had been staring at.

“Meredith Stannard is one of the quickest, smartest persons I know. A little remorseless from time to time, but I can’t picture her giving up on a case that easily.”

Timothy realized he had started gnawing on his lower lip, when he bit down a little too hard. He let go of it and focused back on the task at hand.

“So, it’s not unusual that even committed officers can’t solve a case from time to time. A rather big case, I’ll give you that. But –“

“Her partner, Samson? He’d been an addict once. Cocaine, if I remember correctly. Dealt for some time on the streets, too. For some reason he managed to stop and found himself a proper life. Started his apprenticeship. It’s been quite some time by now. But he _was_ once involved with one of the cartels that fought in the drug war in 2013. What if he kept some connections to his former employees?”

Timothy shook his head, still skeptically. “Seriously mate, I think you’re just clutching at straws right now! We wanted to get an overview over your old crucifixion-cases, remember?”

Joshua twisted his mouth in an annoyed huff, but shoved a few more files towards Timothy’s side of the desk.

“Here, then. I don’t need a reminder. Those were _my_ cases, after all.” Timothy bit back the remark that a little reminder wouldn’t hurt from time to time. Instead, he took the ruffled files and started sorting them again. He briefly wondered how Joshua could ever get anything done at all, with this chaotic working style. He himself would go mad if he’d work like this!

He glanced up to see Joshua tattering the next file with quick moving fingers. Timothy sighed, but didn’t interfere. He would sort it out later again.

For a few minutes neither of them said anything. He was far too obtained with the files Joshua had given him. He knew the drug war had been bad, but the pile of papers he was working through right now was more than just a little disconcerting. Briefly skimming he’d counted at least twenty victims, solely those found attached to crosses.

Joshua was right, most of their victims weren’t murdered like this. He vaguely remembered that the actual victims’ number in the end counted up to almost three hundred.

He could barely come to imagine the emotional and professional pressure Joshua and his former partner must have been under.

A young girl smiled at him from the case file picture: Her greenish eyes shining with joy, her flaming red hair kept in an untidy bun. He screened the page for her name: Moira Brown, age 19 when she died. The next photograph showed her naked, post-mortem with the Y-shaped cut on her chest, her green eyes closed. Nineteen bloody years, still in College. What a waste.

The next one: A handsome blonde, with blue eyes radiating from the photograph. Timothy couldn’t shake the impression he knew him from somewhere. He checked for the name, and yes: Kai Theirin. They’d met briefly on one of Timothy’s father’s gatherings, but hadn’t spoken that much. It still didn’t feel exactly good to think of the young, cheerful man hanging from a cross, starved to death, his face distorted in pain.

“Here, found it!” Joshua exclaimed suddenly, dragging Timothy out of his gloomy thoughts.

Timothy leaned a little further over the desk to see what he’d pointed out.

“The beheading-case? There was no mistake in the electronic files! Here, look: The case first belonged to Pentaghast and Rutherford. Then, on June 11th 2013, it was taken from them: Investigating detectives: Sebastian Vael and Donny Hendyr. Odd.”

Suddenly, his features faltered, then he caught himself again, but instead started skipping through his files once more, though in a much quicker pace. Timothy watched him, curious as one could get about what had crossed Joshua’s mind.

He didn’t bother to ask, though. All he would get from him right now would be a brusque grunt after all.

He sighed and turned his attention to the crucifixion-files again. He skipped Theirin’s file quickly and took the next one – only to be stared at by a very familiar pair of hazel eyes. Timothy blinked in astonishment.

His eyes flickered between the picture showing the victim alive and the one taken after her autopsy – and then towards the photograph on Joshua’s desk, turned away from Timothy’s view right now.

He vaguely remembered this woman’s case. It had been all over the news. If a journalist was found crucified and displayed right in front of the God damn Washington Monument… Of course the media had torn the case apart, exploited every little detail. It was just until now that Timothy made the connection between this case and Joshua.

“Shit, mate. I didn’t know –“

He shot his partner a quick glance, but found him typing something insistently on his mobile. Joshua looked up briefly, but averted his glance soon, finishing whatever text he was sending. Then he put his phone aside and faced Timothy again.

“Guess you heard about it before, huh?”

A sad smile hovered around Joshua’s lips. He must have expected Timothy to find these particular files.

“I did. I just… I didn’t realize Marianne Williamson was your… wife?”

He exhaled slowly, trying to wrap his mind around all the consequences. Of course. That explained, why Joshua had been withdrawn from the cases.

Hell, it was a miracle Joshua were still in this line of work after all that!

“We weren’t married.”

Still. He kept her picture on his desk, even three years later.

“Your girlfriend, then?”

Joshua nodded. Timothy cursed under his breath. Well, that explained why he had found Joshua wrecked like that in the morning. He himself would probably have done the same if he’d been in his situation.

“How did she… I mean, did they use her to blackmail you? To give up the cases?”

He checked the date again. Yes, Marianne’s death had been the last recorded crucifixion in D.C. – until two day ago, at least.

“No, nothing like that.” Joshua swallowed fitfully, looking all helpless again.Timothy gritted his teeth at the sight alone.

“She was a journalist. A pretty good one, actually.” He chuckled, but it sounded dry and hoarse. “I guess you can imagine: A journalist and a detective. We’ve had some spectacular disagreements from time to time!”

He stilled, as he tried to collect himself again.

“Of course she was on that case – just like every god-damn other journalist in D.C. by the time. I told her not to investigate on her own, told her to stay out of it, but she wouldn’t listen to me.”

Another sad laughter fled from his throat and rasped within Timothy’s ears.

He fell silent again, maybe because he was lacking words, maybe because he wasn’t trusting his own voice right now.

“And then she got caught.” Timothy concluded, and Joshua could only nod.

Maybe a minute later he felt comfortable enough to speak again.

“They placed her in front of the Washington monument. After she was missing for a whole week.” He paused again, a sour grin playing along his twisted lips. “Guessed you’ve heard about it. Everyone has.”

Timothy pressed his lids together for a second, the mental image too clear before his eyes.

“And your daughter, is she –“

“She’s fine. She can’t remember. Barely been a year old then.”

Timothy blinked again and put the picture frame he was clutching at back onto Joshua’s desk.

Should he keep on questioning? He could only imagine how painful the memories must be for Joshua, but he still needed information…

“So, after Marianne – they stopped? Why?”

The corners of his mouth twitched.

“They didn’t, I think. Not because of her, at least. The drug war ended, and the crucifixions stopped. We never found out –“

He was stopped the second the door was torn open and with a decent amount of noise closed again. He watched Joshua’s expression shift from petrified into something that resembled a dry smirk.

Timothy turned around to see who had entered their office and spotted a woman, maybe in her early thirties. She walked straight for their desks with a quick “Hey boys!” and shooed Joshua away with just a flicker of her wrist.

Timothy watched with no little astonishment how Joshua followed her order without questioning.

The woman slumped onto Joshua’s chair and inserted an USB flash drive into his computer, while vigorously ignoring Timothy’s presence.

He briefly mused if all of his new colleagues had to be such socially awkward types.

“So, I’m Detective Timothy de Moray, by the way. Though Timothy suffices.”

The woman started clicking on Joshua’s PC. She didn’t even look up as he addressed her.

_Oh great, another one._

With a sigh he rose from his chair to circle around the desk to see what the woman did there – whoever the hell she was – marveling at the two of them as they started bickering.

“Darn, Josh, that thing is so fucking slow, even my granny would work faster! How often have I told you to defrag your shitty old-ass computer by now?”

“I stopped counting after the last ten times.”

“Yeah, whatever. How about just doing what I tell you, for a change?”

“Do I look as if I have the time for that?”

“Do you think I look like I have the time to wait for your lazy-ass computer? Why don’t you be useful for once and get me some coffee?”

Timothy realized he was gaping at them. What on earth had happened to the earlier subdued mood? They were talking about Joshua’s dead girlfriend and his semi-orphaned daughter!

“Oh, come on, Val!”

The woman only shot him a cheeky smile.

“Two sugars!”

Timothy couldn’t help himself but chuckle in amusement when Joshua strolled off, jokingly giving her the finger on his way out, but she just laughed at it.

“Thanks, cutie!” The woman exclaimed after him.

Timothy cleared his throat in the weak attempt of drawing her attention.

“So, _Val_ , I take it. And to be more precisely, you are…?” He almost expected her to continue ignoring him, but to his delight she actually did answer him – what a lovely alternation.

“Me? I’m the IT-department the two of you ordered, you goof!”

“Ah.”

Well, that explained next to nothing, considering he didn’t order anyone – oh, of course. Joshua had found a clue before, and then had stared texting someone erratically. Obviously _Val._

“It’s Valerie Mahariel, actually. Don’t dare to call me like that, I hate the name. Val’s just fine.”

Timothy scrutinized her quickly. “Aren’t you a little too stereotypical, even for the IT-department?”

He must confess, his approach could only be entitled as quite unconventional, but he was dead sure he would get next to nothing out of Val if he kept his all-polite, well-educated boy-surface. Besides, with her untidy braid, her ripped jeans and the worn out band tee – was that an actual tour shirt from AC/DC’s tour in 1992?

She looked down at herself, clearly smirking now. “What, you don’t approve of my taste in fashion, pretty boy?”

“Oh come one, there’s no way you even were on that tour in 1992!”

She looked up to him with a mischievous gleam in her dark, almost black eyes. It seemed like something in the middle between mocking and pitying.

“Actually, I _was_ there, you know? My dad dragged me there – and I freaking loved it! Ever seen a father charging into a mosh pit with his eight-year-old daughter on his shoulder? No? Well, Mum wasn’t exactly pleased to hear about it, either.  
But, at least I got to keep the t-shirt Dad bought for me that day. Thankfully he was anticipatory enough to buy it for grown-ups.”

She laughed joyfully.

“I guess, he started an obsession for the band tees that day. Huh, that’d been hilarious if you’d ever seen the inside of my closet.”

Well, maybe Timothy had been right in the first place. He bet this one would get along great with the pathologist he’d met yesterday.

He almost expected for them to settle in the uncomfortable silence that usually emerged between perfect strangers like they were, after one topic got drained.

“Aren’t you a little too obvious, too?”

_Oh great, she’d decided to shoot back._

“A little too obvious for what? I take it you pointed out earlier I’m a little too much the _pretty boy_ to fulfill the stereotype of the fucked-up homicide-cop who has seen too much bloodshed in his life.”

Val snickered and reached over for him, plucking on one of his carefully arranged curls.

“Oh, you definitely are! Like, come on, manicured fingernails – starched branded shirt – and for fuck’s sake you got more hair-care product on your head than I’ve ever used my entire life!”

Timothy arched his brows at the woman. Was she serious?

“No, just kidding, I saw you at one of the clubs last weekend. You were pretty obtained snogging that lanky blonde guy back there!”

She burst into laughter again. Obviously his expression must look much funnier since last time he’d checked it.

“Yeah, that’s right, I have a damn gift for recognizing faces. Plus, I might have made a random background check when you started here, Mr. Straight A student!”

Timothy couldn’t help himself but nod in appreciation. “I’m struggling very hard not to make the obvious pun right here!”

“What, straight A student? Yeah, definitely the only thing straight about you!” Of course, _she_ wouldn’t mind making the awful joke…

“Just make sure you’re not ogling Joshua’s ass too obviously, he can get a little touchy if he fears for his manliness.”

“I don’t think I want to hear the rest of this dialogue.”

Speaking of the devil, Joshua reappeared, two steaming cups in his hands. Valerie and he both watched with great amusement as he struggled to close the door again without spilling any of the coffee.

Grunting again, he placed one of the paper cups in front of Val and sipped on his own.

“Well, you clearly took your time. We had to enjoy ourselves somehow!”

“Just wanted to give the two of you some time to get to know each other a little.”

“My ass, you did! Probably stopped by for a little snack again, am I right, roly-poly?”

“Oh, shut it, Val!” He said rolling his eyes.

The woman snickered again, before she took a good sip from her coffee.

“Whatever, dude. Better stay on my good side for now, cause look what I dug out!”

She opened a few files from her flash drive simultaneously. Timothy skimmed through the amount of text that had popped up. He recognized the cases Joshua was talking about earlier: The beheading, the mass burial site and at least a dozen more cases which Timothy hadn’t heard from yet.

“Don’t wanna bore you boys with the details for now, so the awesome correlation is this.”

She typed a command Timothy couldn’t recognize and in all files the same line got highlighted.

“See that? Those are the investigating detectives that were responsible for each case – at first.”

Timothy saw a rather broad variety of names – even though he only recognized very few, due to him still being new to the department, presumably.

“For your information, Timmy, Joshua chose all the cases with _that_ icon placed somewhere.”

“Timothy, not _Timmy,_ please!” He intervened, but got completely ignored again.

Out of nothing she made that particular icon appear. He’d seen it before, but couldn’t quite assign it right away: A cantering bull, golden against a red background.

“We assumed that was an icon representing one of the groups involved in 2013’s drug war.”

“Though the investigators never got any evidence, against that oh-so-ominous group, yeah?” Valerie cut Joshua’s explanation.

“Ever wondered, why? Well, watch this!” She clicked again and the images changed once more.

“Mind the dates! Before the June 8th, 2013 the detectives of the MCVU kept their cases, almost every time. Nothing suspicious though, if one did lose his case – usually they were compromised in some way. It happened maybe once or twice a year.  
But then, after the June 8th – “

She smiled oddly proud of herself, but Timothy paid her no attention, staggered by what was shown on the screen.

“All cases related to that icon were transferred to different detectives! Here, two on the 8th, another one on the 9th –“

“And all of them by at least the 23rd, yes. Afterwards, every incoming case got directed to – wait a sec – exactly those twelve detectives. Who did a shit to resolve them!”

Valerie tapped her fingers on the screen, most definitely upset by now.

“The cases just stayed unsolved, nothing new added to it, then got closed. And vanished.”

She sighed and run a hand through her untidy braid. “There’s no way to get rid of the files without the IT-department. They all cross our desk, after all. Which means, someone high up must be compromised as well.” She sighed. “How wonderful.”

Timothy studied the names carefully. There – Vael and Hendyr, and there – Stannard and Samson, those Joshua mentioned before.

“But Joshua’s crucifixion cases weren’t taken from him!” He pinpointed the hole in the uprising theory. But Joshua shook his head slowly, his eyes still fixated on the screen.

“The Captain wanted us to give up on the cases. Then my former partner, Logan MacTir walked straight up into Rebecca’s office. I don’t know what he told her, but after he left, the Captain never spoke of it again. Or well, she didn’t until Marianne’s death, when I clearly _was_ compromised.”

Timothy shook his head forcefully.

“You can’t be serious. You’re basically suggesting that Captain Adamowicz is… What, working with the cartel?!”

Joshua’s eyes were belittled to narrow slits by now. Timothy saw his jaw clenching, so hard was he trying to remain in control.

“It’s the last logical explanation, isn’t it?”

Timothy still tried to object. “But, she’d been in office for how long now? Almost a decade?”

“More or less.” Val confirmed.

“Then why should she suddenly –“

“The June 8th, 2013, as I told you.”

Valeria shot Joshua an excusing smile and opened yet another case, a missing person record.  
The case got closed on the June 8th, 2013. Unsolved.”

Joshua tugged in a sharp breath.

“Simon Adamowicz’s case. Rebecca’s husband. Shit, I remember!” Joshua’s eyes darted between him and Val as he continued.

“He disappeared a few weeks before that, but she didn’t tell many of us. _No police_ -orders, we know how these things work. And then, overnight she simply stops the search for him. And closes the file.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I was so obtained with the crucifixions, I didn’t pay much attention to it...”

Another moment of silence fell over them.

“So, the Captain’s husband disappears and the day she stops searching for him, she starts to behave unreasonably? Takes cases from completely competent detectives and hands them over to others who never produce any results?”

Timothy tried to recapitulate for himself. “Fuck.”

The effects this truth would stir were beyond his instant imagination. He glanced over to Joshua, unnerved by the distraught look on his partner’s face.

Shit, of course this was worse for him!

“Joshua? Hey partner, listen to me.”

He flicked his fingers in front of his pale face, but only drew his attention after a few more attempts.

Joshua was furious, no doubt, paralyzed by the urge to charge into Rebecca’s office right now, to demand answers.

“Joshua, listen, okay? Just listen for now: We have to be really careful, you understand that? Most especially careful! We can’t report to the Captain, we can’t allow our colleagues to get details on the cases, and if Valerie is right, we have to check for the IT-department as well. We have to be sure nothing we will find out in future leaves this room, okay?”

No reaction.

“I know you’re furious right now, and yes, you have every fucking right to be so. But we can’t confront her now!”

He licked his lips and tried his best to remain a calm surface, for Joshua’s sake.

“We have to be very considerate from now on. And we have to decide who we can trust.”

He squinted over to Val, who was still sipping on her coffee.

“Your data is safe on your computer, I presume?”

She only rolled her eyes at him. Right, IT-department, and possible hacker on top of that. He just hoped that whoever else was involved in this, was a less skilled one than Valerie.

“It would be best if you’d go home now. Finally get some sleep. Not that you do something ill-considerate when I don’t watch your back.”

Joshua nodded slowly and didn’t object when Timothy helped him into his coat. Val got up on her feet and patted Joshua’s shoulder lightly.

“Besides, honey? Take a shower. You smell a little.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MCVU = Major Case Victims Unit


	7. Chapter VI

  


  


4:53 p.m.

Lisa frowned as she watched the man leave the police department.

_Too early._

Even if he’d stick to his schedule, his shift would be over in about an hour at the earliest. An hour and seven minutes to be precise. Usually, he would stay longer.

She leaned back in the safety behind the tinted windows of her car, as she watched how the detective grimaced against the sunlight in discomfort. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked down on it.

_Checking messages? No, probably not._

She had read Detective Joshua Cromwell’s report beforehand: The only social contacts the man kept were colleagues – who wouldn’t need to send him texts right after he’d left from work. His parents were long past the age of seventy, if they contacted their son, they’d call. Probably they weren’t even aware something like _texting_ even existed. His daughter’s kindergarten? His housekeeper? No, to both of them – again a call more likely.

The man lowered his phone again and put it away.

_No messages. Told you so._

Lisa watched as Detective Cromwell walked over to his car – silver Ford Mondeo, old model, from the early 2000, likely kept and repaired several times for nostalgic reasons. The detective opened the car door first, held on for a second but then closed it again.

Lisa sighed, a little annoyed as he headed down the street by foot.

_Alright then._

They never met in person before, so it wouldn’t matter if he saw her. She should be safe.

She waited until she was sure he wouldn’t pay attention to her, then got out of the car.

She reached into the handbag she carried over her shoulder – Gucci, black leather with golden applications, stylized tigon on the front, much too impractical to her liking, but suitable for her disguise.

Lisa pulled out the small hand mirror as if to check her make-up and hairdo – as the well-off secretary she pretended to be for this afternoon might do – but watched the detective on the round, reflecting surface. She renewed her lipstick – Rose d’Exception, soft rosy pink, perfectly average for the average woman on an average day.

Detective Cromwell was almost out of sight when she flipped the mirror shut, put it away and followed with focused little mincing steps as if her feet hurt from wearing high heels all day long.

_As if._

Within a few minutes she caught up with Detective Cromwell again. The man scuffled along the street, hands buried deeply in his pockets, head lowered.

_Moving too damn slowly._

Lisa stopped and rummaged in her bag, pretending to search for her phone – blackberry passport specification, silver, essential for every businesswoman – pulled it out and glanced at it for a while, skimming through an email. High-payed secretaries had to answer e-mails immediately after all.

With a decent distance to the detective, she started moving again. Slower this time, though. Stopping too often in the middle of a busy street was way too conspicuous.

She started looking into the shop windows to her side and let a dreamy smile show on her lips - at least she had to justify her changed behavior somehow.

Maybe the secretary she pretended to be had just received an email from her boss in which he gave her the next day off? Likely, the secretary would stop her hurrying-home-behavior and change into the finally-free-time-behavior. 

Quite content with her explanation her smile deepened.

From the corners of her eyes she saw Detective Cromwell switch to the other side of the street.

Lisa contemplated following but decided against it.

Too soon, too likely to get noticed.

She didn't think that for now she would be at risk of losing sight of him - just when he turned left and entered another street.

_Damn him._

Lisa cursed him mentally and followed – looking as casually as she managed to, her face a mask of the ready-for-free-time-business woman.

Detective Cromwell was aiming for one of the diners, she realized.

_How convenient_.

Him sitting still would make her job so much easier.

She stopped at a small flower shop on the opposite side of the street, after she made sure that the man had entered the diner and did stay inside.

Turning her back on her target was somewhat risky, but necessary if she wanted an excuse for not following straight up into the building. Which would have been suspicious.

_So – flowers._

5:09 p.m.  

Lisa’s eyes flickered over the shop – two crates on both sides of the casement doors, filled with various flowerpots, species hardly organized, colors all mixed up. Hideous mess. 

Lisa noticed the small sign above the door, cheap-crafted, the paint already spalling on the edges. She gave the shop about two more months before they’d go belly-up. 

A young woman – green apron with the shop’s logo printed on the cloth over her full breasts, white shirt, short messy blonde hair, pretentious-helpful smile – approached her, peeving her with the predictable _May I help you?_

Lisa swallowed down her irritation. It might be a decent enough idea to actually do something here – a busy secretary wouldn’t idly stare at flowers for no reason – no time for that!

She smiled back sweetly at the salesgirl and quickly ordered a small bouquet – nine wild daffodils – told her fake name and a fake address. One of the buildings Caesar kept as a charade, the guys there would sign the order and then throw the flowers away, no questions asked. She briefly entertained the idea of sending the flowers to Caesar personally, but decided against it. Too much of courtship, too obvious. Besides, too risky.

She payed and thanked the woman cheerfully. Annoying, but part of the act. 

She turned around and the unnecessary smile faltered instantly. Finally, she headed over for the Diner, a little relieved to see Detective Cromwell’s silhouette in one of the windows, sitting in one of the booths.

5:16 p.m.

She decided that enough time had passed and entered.

She entered the small diner and took one quick look around to take in the situation. Most of the booths were empty – despite the time being fitful for dinner. Lisa aimed for one of the last table and sat down – across from the detective, facing him.

She reached out for the card and pretended to look into the menu. The stressed-out secretary would crave something fatty and fast right now, something nutritionally totally worthless that would give her a quick kick, only to let her drop soon afterwards and make her crave for more. Lisa couldn’t understand why the concept of nutritional, slow energy releasing food was such a mystical concept for all the stupid, fat-assed women out there. How hard could it be to go without stuffing your face with garbage for just one day to break this more than obvious cycle?

She kept her gaze fixed on the detective, quietly observing the man, brooding over the tablecloth, his bottle of beer in front of him fairly untouched, though Lisa was too far away to spot which brand it was. Budweiser, apparently. Or at least it seemed to be his favorite according to his record.

A waitress approached her, messy hairdo, lazy steps, a notepad loosely in her hands, shoulders slouched. Definitely unmotivated. If it were up to Lisa, she wouldn’t have set foot in this diner. But oh well, if that was what Detective Cromwell preferred, so be it.

Absently she gave her orders – burger, fries, black coffee, no sugar – and reached into her bag to pull out her headphones. She plunged them into her phone – no music though, diversion was not an option right now, but well enough as a cover-up. People tended to ignore others engulfed in their own little world. A rather enjoyable side-benefit of human ignorance.

Lisa leaned back and emptied her gaze. It was astonishingly easy to observe someone like this. No one actually cared for a person engrossed deeply in their own thoughts. She could stare at them for minutes in a row without them noticing her, as long as her own expressions remained blank.

Not that it would have mattered in the current case. Detective Cromwell kept his eyes lowered on the table. He was peeling on the corners of beer bottle's label, tearing the paper down in small shreds bit by bit.

_A nervous habit?_

_No, why should he be nervous._

_Something odd at work today?_

_Was this his usual way of spending the evenings?_

_Loosing stare-downs against his beer and preferring it over coming home to what was left of his family?_

Lisa mused, then pulled her phone out of her bag. Pretending to write an email, she opened the recently created file called "Joshua Cromwell“ and started typing.

  * Rather dining out instead of eating at home – why?



Apparently he felt more comfortable eating in a shabby diner than at home.

_Trouble at home?_

According to his folder he still lived alone, except for his daughter. And the housekeeper. She dimly remembered his girlfriend who had the misfortune of crossing her path. No serious relationship since then. Obviously still in grief for her loss.

Lisa tried to recall how long it had been since then. Almost three years? Still, she decided it might as well be possible and added a quick note in her blackberry.

A movement caught her attention, when Detective Cromwell reached inside his pocket. He frowned a little and pulled out a small object Lisa couldn’t recognize right away. Colorful, light blue. He turned it in between his fingers, flinched and shoved it back in his pocket again. A quick look around the diner followed, then a glance at his watch.

He seemed to contemplate something, but shook his head and continued staring down at his bottle, his expressions even more gloomy now.

_Guilt_ , Lisa decided _._

He acted like a man who thought himself guilty for whatever reason. Lisa mentally went through her check list to get a hint.

There was the matter of his daughter, of course. Who should be home by now. Wouldn’t people tend to go home to see their kids, if they had the time to do so?

  * Feeling of guilt towards daughter?   



She added it to the text file, but stared at it unsatisfied.

Lisa cursed the lackey who had put together the detective’s file. Way too many blank spots in it! She herself would have done better. Oh well, at least she would find answers to that question, sooner or later. Maybe Caesar would even allow her to _discuss_ that particular matter with the one who screwed this up.

The thought _did_ cheer her up a little.

The waitress approached him, the plate loaded with cheesesteak, fries _and_ onion rings.

Torn from his thoughts he looked up and thanked her with a brief nod. He glanced around as if to ensure himself no one had noticed his absence of thoughts and focused on his food.

Lisa peaked up again, just in time as the waitress arrived with her plate and a steaming cup of coffee.

  


She didn’t feel hungry at all right now, though she still noted how long it took the woman to fulfill her order. Just as a matter of principle. If that woman would be one of her employees, Lisa wouldn’t tolerate such behavior.

What did employees such as her say about the entire business?

She remembered her act and shot the infuriatingly sluggish waitress a thankful smile before taking a short sip on the steaming coffee. It was burnt. Unbelievable.  

5:47 p.m.

Lisa swallowed down her irritation and faced the fries on her plate that caused small stains of grease on the ceramic. She would need to take those extra calories and fatty acids into calculation for her workout-schedule.

While she devoured her burger – the secretary would be starved after a long day in the office and wouldn’t shed a thought for the unhealthy fatty acids after all – Lisa kept an eye on detective Cromwell. He too, seemed to rather enjoy his meal. Now that he stopped his thoughtful brooding.

Lisa screened from his face to the detective’s body. While definitely muscular, he softened a little on the edges. Due to aging? Probably. Most men his age were, when they started losing the willpower to look after themselves. 

Lisa mused how he would react to restrains. Most people were so used to fulfilling their cravings whenever they felt like it.

  * Used to a certain lifestyle. Try starvation, start with 36h.



She let her eyes wander above the man’s clothing. White button-down and dark jeans. Wrinkled. Hadn’t been home at night to change. Dark circles underneath his eyes. Not enough sleep either.

  * Sleep deprivation not recommended.



He seemed like the type who was able to get by without a lot of sleep. 

Another too soft fry. Another sip of the hideous coffee.

A bottle of beer on the end of the day. Rather usual. But according to his file that guy seemed to consume quite a bit more than average. She suspected he had developed some kind of starting addiction behind it.

  * No access to alcohol.



Might not cause him to break down, but would certainly increase his discomfort once she got hold on him.

She allowed herself a quick, anticipating smile. Once she got hold on him. What a fun that would be! If he would be just as stubborn as his girlfriend had been - oh, that would be exciting!

The waitress approached the detective again, asking if she could get him another drink. Her back straightened and her hips swaying a little bit more than they had when she served Lisa. Interested in the scruffy look, huh? How ordinary. 

Indeed, the waitress leaned in just a hint too much, invading his personal space. To her surprise the detective moved away, probably subconscious.

_Not used to physical closeness?_

_Just not interested in that particular woman?_

_No_. She decided. The physical closeness wasn’t the issue. Maybe not comfortable with women being in charge? Feeling emasculated if he wasn’t the figurative _hunter,_ but taking the place of the _prey_?

Well, if _that_ wasn’t one enthralling thought!

  * Try dominance.



Lisa’s mind buzzed with the opportunities _that_ particular thought held, but shooed them away quickly. An indulgence for a different time. _Business first._

Detective Cromwell’s plate emptied rapidly and Lisa forced herself to drain the cup of coffee quickly, ignoring the acidic taste of the burnt coffee beans. He would be finished soon. Time for her to make an appearance. And yes, there, he got out of the booth and walked over to the counter, a worn black leather purse in his hand.

Reaching for her mug, Lisa joined him at the counter, signalizing the sloppy waitress she wanted a refill. She was quite content with her approach, standing just close enough to invade the detective's personal space but not enough to make him feel uncomfortable.

She mimicked noticing him out of the corner of her eyes for the first time, turned her head towards him and shot him a sheepish smile. She decided the stressed-out secretary she played was single. And looking for some kind of stress relief.

The detective caught her glance and looked rather confused for a second, before he gave her a quick nod. Friendly, though without innuendo. Lisa huffed. Oh well, it didn’t matter. If it would be up to her, she wouldn’t go for the pitiful secretary she portrayed either.

Lisa faced the waitress again, who ignored Lisa to type in the Detective’s receipt first. She fought down the urge to yell at the rudeness and kept the small, flirtatious smirk on her lips.

The man paid and attempted to leave, and Lisa waited for two more seconds to step closer towards the counter to complain about her lack of coffee. Of course he ran into her like this, and Lisa felt fairly pleased that she had calculated her move so precisely.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

She excused herself quickly, her voice slightly higher than usually and crouched down to help him gather the things he had dropped. Purse, opened, change fallen out of it. Keys – one for his car, three different keys that looked like house keys -

_Why three?_

\- one smaller one presumably for the mailbox, an electronic one most likely for work.

And there it was: The small, blue object Joshua had felt guilty about just before.

She quickly checked that neither he nor the waitress were looking, before she snatched it and hid it in her palm.

The man thanked her for her help, rose and left the diner.

Smiling to herself, Lisa took her – finally filled – cup again and went back to her booth.

_Enough for today_ , she decided and watched him through the poorly cleaned glass of the window.

She looked down at the object in her palm. A tiny, fragile hair clip, just as little girls wore it. Light blue, a blond woman in a dress as an ornament glued on top of it. Sparkly.

Yes, that definitely belonged to his daughter.

_Maybe a little too early for trinkets_ , she mused as she put it in her pocket.

 

But oh well, she'd get there.

  


  


  



	8. Chapter VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit sexual content ahead!  
> Disclaimer: Unhealthy Dom/Sub relationship and brief mentioning of mental health issues

* * *

 

 

 

Sometimes the loneliest moments in one’s life did not include actually being alone – a lesson Rachel had already learned as a child.  
Sometimes the greatest loneliness one could experience, was feeling lost in the high-pitched music, the clinking of champagne flutes and the tedious stream of meaningless courtesies.

Which unfortunately enough for her – those kinds of circumstances happened to come along with her daily life.

Thus she laid there, exposed on the expensive _accubita_ , Caesar’s exaggerated adaptation of the ancient Roman furniture couches, as she served her time.

Usually on a night like this, she would wait for Caesar to decide that some faceless nobody had earned the right to spend the night with one of the girls – waited, until she would have to fake a pleased smile and quietly surrender to her duty. Or to give a sympathetic nod to whichever poor girl Caesar picked instead.

Tonight, though, was different. With Caesar having left the gathering early that evening – on his way to Vegas with the obnoxious Mr. House to settle the last agreements – all of them had found themselves left with some air to breathe.

With the atmosphere growing boozy more and more over time, Rachel found herself musing about the appropriate time to retreat. She run a casual glimpse along the room, pretending to be bored thereof, but in soothe ensuring _he_ was still attending the party.

Tonight was of exceptional importance, an opportunity she had waited for months by now. She brushed along the delicate purse dainty-fingered, the stiff surface of three packages of high concentrated sleep-inducing drugs reassuringly underneath her fingertips.

Rachel intended to free herself tonight – one way or another.

Lost in thoughts, her fingers traced along her left cheekbone, the bruise beneath the protecting layer of make-up had kept its steady pulsation over the entire evening, reminding her unpleasantly of the last night with Mr. House. Whatever Caesar promised himself from the alliance with the man, she could only hope it had been worth it.

Rachel sat up on the couch in order to get a better view over the place.

With the hour already long past midnight and closer to the sun rising, each person seemed adequately intoxicated by the sweet wine, by the dainty drugs.

Even the other girls, usually kept a jealous watch over, had joined the feasting crowd to find themselves the company they wished to choose, at least for this one night.

Intrigued by the thought Rachel let her glance snap back to _his_ towering figure, rakishly leaning against a wall, refraining from mingling but observing instead.

One more quick ensuring look to confirm indeed no one was bestowing consideration upon her, before she left her habitual place and made her way through the room, deliberately avoiding the cheerful crowd.

Rachel stopped next to _him_ , yet averting eye contact. After all there was no way to ensure everybody being wasted enough to not notice their unusual behavior. Instead, she contemplated the statue next to him, as if she would have a single thought left for the fine marble working, or for the attached, golden ornaments.

“I do adore the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger and sex that permeates these events.”

Rachel relaxed her shoulders again, hiding what the velvety, deep rumble of his voice did to her, as she kept her eyes locked on the marble statue.

“It would presumably be a more fitting description for when this gathering had started.”

Out of the corner of her eyes she could see him taking another sip from his almost emptied glass, a golden gleam of expensive cognac.

“Indeed, though unfortunately I couldn’t let you know before.” She could tell his gaze had shifted and now rested heavily upon her.

“I assume your… acquaintance would not have been exactly fond of me interrupting that cozy encounter of yours.”

Rachel pretended to clear her throat, giving her the time to cover the smug smile that threatened to show on her face. It was simply too precious when he grew possessive like this.

“One wonders why Caesar departed without his Left Hand accompanying him.”

She dared to eye him now, a teasing insinuation in the wince of the corners of her mouth.

“I had my plans.”

Her amused approach vanished under his gaze, now solely focused upon her, fixating her in her place. Held there like this for a moment.

Then he pushed off the wall and left.

Rachel prepared herself, tugging a loose strand of hair back behind her ear and waited for what she assumed as an appropriate time to have passed – long, enduring minutes, necessary but no less unpleasant.

She ought to make the most of it.

It had to be tonight.

 

* * *

 

Rachel felt herself being pushed against the fleetingly closed door as soon as they rushed into Caesar’s abandoned office. Feeling _his_ strength again after weeks of deprivation amounted to sweet salvation.

His hand closed around her throat, applying pressure to both sides of it, a severe promise of what to expect.

“Get in front of the desk and undress. Then kneel.”

Her feet rushed forward on their own, leaving her high heels where they stood, unconcerned about her carelessness – for since this was not _his_ home, and there was no reason to show respect to the man the office belonged to. Her mind, though, was buzzing with barely hidden eagerness to obey.

The silken fabric of her dress was gone within one smooth movement of her shoulders, tossed aside to crumple neglected onto the timber flooring, quickly followed by the lace-decorated bra. The cool air of the empty room crept slowly across her bare chest, hardening her peaks.

She hooked her thumbs into the fragile strings of her thong, dragging it down as slowly as she dared to, knowing he would only allow such a provoking display to a certain point.

She did not have to look up, the heavy sound of his boots kept telling her were to expect him. Without any doubt he was watching every single movement of her. She reached out to undo her garter belt, when he interrupted her.

“Leave them on.”

Rachel removed her hands in an instant, exposed underneath his examining gaze now except for the gauzy stockings. Presumably she should feel vulnerable, maybe pressed, standing bare like this before him. Instead, she kneeled down in a graceful movement, her fingers intertwined on the lower of her back, her head bowed in a chaste gesture. Even without lifting her gaze she could follow his slow, deliberate walk, circling around her.

“I am certain you are well aware of your misconducts since the last time we met.”

He had stopped behind her, leaving her unable to spot him from the corners of her eyes. With a flicker of tongue over her lips she replied. “Yes, _domine_.”

“Very well. Tell me.”

Rachel lowered her lids a little further.

“Afore, I used inappropriate language on you, _domine._ I ignored you while we were in public. I have neither eaten nor drunk as much as you told me to. I had to take your name in vain when demanded to not arouse suspicion.”

While she was speaking, he moved around the imposing desk made of dark, seasoned oak. The sounds coming from him indicated he was rummaging through Caesar’s drawers, yet from her point of view she was not able to see what he was searching for.

“I have given myself to other men.” She gnawed at her lower lip, the memory of how the ‘show’ the night before had ended all too vividly before her eyes. “Most of all, I did so while you were watching.”

A pleased sound that presumably was not addressed towards her, fell from his lips. As his heavy footsteps closed again, Rachel could spot the lower part of a black leather belt he held within his hand, one that Caesar must have left in the drawers of his desk.

“And?”

He inquired, his softened voice hiding his disapproval excellently. At another time she might even have believed his lulling kindness.

“And I am wearing Caesar’s claim where only yours is supposed to be.”

She did not dare to touch the tight, ornamented collar around her throat, black and heavy upon her skin, now out of the sudden much more restrictive, more unwelcome than ever. The knowledge of it soon to be gone, only increased the displeasure it brought along.

His fingers gripped for her braided plait and pulled her head back along with it, still dissatisfying gentle.

“Then we should correct this mistake first, shall we not?”

Rachel was only able to feel the slightest brush of his fingertips on her skin as he unclasped the loathed piece of leather. She could not refrain herself from a deep inhale once the both mental and physical restriction was gone, leaving her free for a moment, free to choose whom to belong to: The one she had always wanted to belong to.

His fingertips returned, brushing along her jawline, presented sharply against his skin with her head still held back by his firm grip.

He did not speak to her while he placed his collar upon her. The soft sanguine velvet underneath the light brown leather nestled delightfully against her skin. He did not have to. There was no way she would one day deny him his rightful claim on her.

As soon as he had set his collar in place, he stepped back, releasing the pressure against her scalp, yet still remaining silent for a few more, agonizing seconds.

“These are no minor mistakes. They will require punishment. Do you agree?”

How could she not, when he asked her with that sinful, promising voice?

“Yes, _domine_. Please.” She whispered, unable to hide the small quiver within her voice. “I am at your mercy.”

A sharp hiss fled from her lips as her head was yanked back again.

“Indeed you are.” The low growl next to her ear sent a shiver down her spine. It was ridiculous how little it took him to bear down her mind, though she loved every second of it.

“Get on your feet and bend over the table. Fingers around the edge. Get yourself spread out nicely for me.”

Despite the anticipation that coiled in her stomach she did not rush, knowing how much her _dominus_ liked to watch her to move gracefully instead of tripping over her own feet by mere eagerness.

The wood felt cool against her bare skin, firm and heavy underneath her as she wrapped her fingers around its edge. Her breasts were pressed uncomfortably against the hard surface as she straightened her back and arched a little further, silently cheering at the approving growl it drew from him.

She heard him toying with the leather belt in his hands as he stepped closer towards her, probably examining her showcased body.

“You most certainly have not been eating enough that is for sure. You are too thin.”

The low sigh that accompanied his scolding narrowed within her chest.

“I failed your tasks, _domine_. I beg your forgiveness.”

The leather came down with a playful hiss as it hit the palm of his own hand, as if he wanted to ensure how to use it best.

“You know, you are not forgiven this easily. Though you may earn it.”

The thick leather was tugged lightly above her naked back, making it quite hard to focus as alluring pictures, half-mixed with similar memories tried to distract her mind.

“How many blows do you think it will take you to earn it? Speak.”

Caught off guard due to her sidetracked thoughts, it took Rachel a second to find an appropriate answer.

“Twenty blows, _domine_.”

A low rumble was the only indication of his approval.

“You will count them, out loud. Lose count, and I will add five more. Make any other noise except counting and I will start anew.”

His firm voice softened a little. “You do remember your safeword?”

Rachel nodded, reluctant to dwell any longer in her impatience.

“Out loud.”

He ordered, prolonging the time even further.

“Tuesday -”

The first impact cut into her flesh as soon as the word was out of her mouth, yet she managed not to cry out her surprise by a narrow margin.

“One.”

The pain subsided quickly.

Far too quickly. Rachel focused on her posture, raising higher on her toes again to how she knew he liked to see her.

The second struck was harder, sending her mind to stagnation for a second, before she could speak again.

“Two.”

It took him agonizingly long before he continued, a wicked game of patience Rachel knew he loved to play, a game to test her willpower, a game she was more than eager to attend.

The third impact came with a loud smack that resounded heavily within her ears, but hardly hurt.

“Three.”

She had to restrain herself from grunting in chagrin from the lack of pain.

Another hiss, another smack, and finally, finally the blissful sting that drove the air out of her lungs.

“Four.”

“Five.”

“Six.”

He granted her three strikes in close succession, before he slowed his pace again, a tender chuckle on his lips as she flinched in indignation while she was left untouched again.

He gave in, eventually. The outcries kept within her throat dragged and wrenched on her mind. He did not pause any longer between the impacts and Rachel was thankful for the sharp stinging pain that radiated from the skin of her bottom through her whole body.

“Eleven.”

He changed his ankle slightly, aiming for the back of her tights now, sending more distinct pain through them, as it ignited the stirring desire between them.

“Fourteen.”

Pleasure and pain mingled in her shriveled mind until she could not tell one from the other – or even cared any longer. Each impact made it more difficult to focus, to keep her head on her task.

“Seventeen.”

She muttered, her legs shaking by now, her fingers clawing at the heavy wood, not willing to let go, for it would mean to disappoint her _dominus_ , to disobey.  
Then again Rachel could tell how much he enjoyed this – her being outspread before him, utterly at his mercy and struggling each second to hold up with him. She knew him well enough to know he would want to continue a little longer.

“Sixteen.”

The belt stopped immediately, leaving her pounding skin fall to rest for a second. The delicious pain no longer subsided, but stayed, throbbing along with the rhythm of her ragged breathing and the pulsating in her center.

“What a pity.” He muttered, even though his voice indicated quite the opposite. Rachel cheered at the undertone of it, despite she was close to what she could take. For _his_ pleasure, she would endure anything he gave her.

His foot nudged her legs further apart, allowing him access to her inner thighs. One warm hand wandered up her calf, long, strong fingers that deliberately made their way up, almost to where she desired them, agonizingly wet by now and cringing with ache to be touched.

Naturally he withdrew his hand again, but she did not dare to express her disappointment.

The next blow almost made her yelp and flinch, directed to where his hands had been seconds before.

“Eighteen.”

Seven more. She could do that. She _would_ do that.

“Nineteen.”

The leather dug into the soft flesh of her other leg, bringing the pain into line.

“Twenty.”

Between each impact his hands returned, tenderly caressing her heated skin, soothing at first, but only sensitizing them before the next one.

“Twenty-one.”

Her mind was vanished, swallowed by the increasing amount of pain.

_Please him. He is all you have left._

“Twenty-three.”

The insight about her mistake came to her through the dense blur within her mind as he (paused) in his movements again, amusingly clicking his tongue.

This time her miscounting had _not_ been on purpose.

Yet, the guttural, approving sound of him chuckling was almost enough to make it up for her.

“Twenty-three.”

The correct one, this time, and directed on her bottom again, giving her burning thighs at least some rest.

_Just seven more._

“Twenty-one.”

He increased his pace again, impossible to tell where the next strike would come down, each one biting deeper into her sore flesh than the one before.

_Endure. For him._

“Twenty-eight.”

Her legs were shaking, her face was wetted by the tears she was unable to hold back now.

“Twenty-nine.”

She was almost sure that by now the silent sobs were not as quiet any longer, but thankfully her _dominus_ did not seem to care. Despite all her love and dedication, she was no longer sure she would be able to endure another thirty.

“Thirty.”

The syllables fell like a prayer from her lips. She could taste blood on her tongue were her teeth had punctured the flesh of it, but it did not matter. Not anymore.

“Such a good girl. You did so lovely.”

His voice was all hoarse and gruff, a distinct sign of his arousal. He reached out for her wrists – her fingers still wrapped around the edge of the desk – and helped her ease her arms back, massaging her stiff limbs until she could feel blood and sense returning into them. His constant stream of reassuring words slowly eased her back into reality, excluding her from the hell her mind had felt like just before.

Still, she did not dare to move or change her position more than to flatten her feet again.

“Are you feeling alright?”

The urge was undeniably there. To give in and tell him to stop, to admit the pain to have been too much.

_He is all you have left in this world._

“Yes _, domine. Gratias ago tibi, domine_.” Rachel was confirmed in her decision as _he_ hummed pleased by the sound of the proper thanks.

“I shall grant you forgiveness this time.”

His long fingers toyed with the braid of her hair. “You should see yourself, all red and sore.”

Rachel whimpered from the sudden pleasure as one warm finger gently stroked above her slit.

“And all wet and aching for me.”

His fingers kept wandering up, when he palmed his hand against her wetness and his fingertips pressed once against her swollen apex. She could not help but cry out in pleasure as he moved, despite the sharp sting that radiated from where he brushed against her sore cheeks.

“So good for me.” He murmured, though his hand on her sex was withdrawn. She heard him unzip his pants, still obliged to only listen as she remained bend over the desk, with her legs spread apart and her sore cheeks displayed.

The spreading arousal allowed her to ignore the pulsating pain that spread from her bottom, the anticipation dominating everything else, since the throbbing ache between her thighs drowned everything beside it with ease.

“ _Adoro te, domine, miserere! Ne me torqueas_!”

Rachel did not think, she did not restrain herself from blathering, could not any longer.

Not with his hand dipping between her thighs, two gentle fingers tracing along her wet slit. She felt utmost grateful when he did not order her to quiet down again, for she was not certain she would have been able to obey this time.

Without knowing when he would have readied himself, without knowing if he attempted to tease her any longer or if he finally was about to lose control, to give in!, she tried her best to be patient, though it was almost too much to bear. Her legs were shaking and her breath accelerated, as if her body would still react to the deliciously painful impacts.

“ _Quaeso, domine_. Please, oh please!”

Unable to even form entire sentences Rachel was reduced to stumble through shards of memorized behavior, reduced to panted asseverations as he slowly inserted his fingers into her, to outcry as he curved them and hit the sweet, delivering spot.

She was close, her entire body still tensed and sensitive from her punishment, the aching heat in her lower belly threatened to spread already.

“Don’t even dare to think about it!” He growled lowly while removing his hand, leaving her with a high-pitched whine caused by the hollowness inside her.

His strong hand reached for her hipbone and pulled himself closer to her.

Finally being able to feel his body close to hers, Rachel whimpered in anticipation.

He aligned himself to her entrance, nudging softly against her wet opening, before he pushed inside in one, long thrust, that hovered just on the edge of too much and exactly enough, his low, rumbling groan like music in her ears, before he started thrusting in a steady rhythm.

Her head was yanked back out of the sudden, his fingers tangled in the almost entirely unwound braid, forcing her to arch back, allowing him to thrust deeper inside, an achingly sweet pressure. She steadied herself with her hands against the desk and pushed back against him.

A steady stream of filthy moans and groans spilled from her lips, mingled with endearments and whispered ‘ _domine’_.

It was not enough, she ached for him to finally touch her again, though she felt starved and distraught enough for his steady thrusts and the sharp sting on her hair to almost, almost –

Rachel cried out in despair as he abruptly stilled his movements. She choked back a sob, arching back, grinding herself against him.

The impact of his flat palm on her sore cheeks made her see stars from the sudden jolting pain.

“Have I allowed you to move?” His gnarl was frustratingly close to her ear as he bowed over her, still buried inside her, making her feel each of his movements.

“No, _domine. Ignosce me, domine_.”

“Very well. You can beg so nicely if you try!” She felt a volatile kiss placed on the back of her neck, before one unexpected roll of his hips made her cry out in despair once again.

“You want it harder?” Another deep thrust that made her flinch due to the coiling heat spreading from her center.

“Like this?”

Another yank, another thrust. It was perfect, almost perfect. If he would only –

“Yes, oh yes, please. Oh _domine,_ please –“

“Please, what?”

“I am begging you, please –“

Another slap across her cheek made her howl in agony and left her panting.

“Stop hiding around. Tell me those filthy things you want me to do!”

Whether it was his sinful voice or the trembling need that filled her whole inmost, Rachel finally gave in.

“I want you to fuck me, oh please, _domine,_ just fuck me, hard! And please, please finally touch me! I – I have been such a good little slut for you, I am yours, mark me, come in me. I am all yours!”

Rachel bit back the sobs that threatened to spill from her ragged lips as he began moving again, hard, fast thrusts, barely without withdrawing he pumped himself inside her, drawing closer to his relief. His moans became audible, soft strung up little moans she always kept precious and close to her heart.

With a final groan he climaxed inside her, his hand still intertwined in her long hair. He pressed his forehead against her sweat-slicked back and panted raggedly as he came down his aftershocks.

“You’re mine. Don’t you ever forget that.”

And with his rumbling voice she could finally, finally feel his fingers at her apex again, definite and assertive now, dragging her higher with every circling movement.

“You’re allowed to come, my little slut.”

His murmured permission was all she needed, exploding violently, intensified, mingled pleasure from the sensation and agony her body had endured tonight. She rode the white-hot pleasure rushing through her veins as long as she could, before crumpling down with every inch of her being into the blissful tenderness that filled her mind.

“What a fascinating sight, indeed.”

His lips traced languid kisses along her spine, but all too quickly retracted from her again, the sudden loss of his length most displeasing.

Rachel avoided to make eye contact as she searched for her abandoned clothes spread over Caesar’s office, the impending farewell resting heavily upon her mind.

She had plans for tonight, after all.

As soon as she was properly dressed again, she rummaged within her purse for the three small packages and hid them within the curve of her palm.

“Have you considered my suggestion, then?” She asked, her back still turned towards him.

With quick, skilled fingers she prepared two glasses of Cognac for both of them, emptying two of the three packages into the glass on her left, though the last one, which would induce the lethal dose, she kept still hidden within her palm.

“Which suggestion do you mean?” His answer was vacuously, but she knew his tactics. He was trying to brush off. Again.

Rachel pressed her lids together as tightly as she could, drawing strength from the small pang of pain.

“You know which one I am referring to.” She took the two glasses into her hands, making sure to remember which one was the left, drugged one.

“Oh, this foolish little idea of yours? About the two of us, running away and escaping Caesar’s grip?” He sighed, with that fixating gaze of his. “We spoke about that already. Where would we flee to? We could never escape him.”

Rachel forced herself to the most devout smile she could think about. She had pretended to play along so often within her life, she would manage one more time.

Then she handed him the glass in her left hand.                                                                

“You are right. You always are.”

The glasses chinked together with a high, whirring sound, which for some reason stirred a profound sadness within her.

He smiled absently at her, swallowing the golden liquor he had once compared to the color of her eyes all at once.

Without having touched her own, she sat the glass aside and pulled him into a tight hug. Usually, she was not allowed to touch him without permission, but she knew how fast the drug would affect his mind.

He did not back off. He gave in into her hug, instead.

Rachel closed her eyes and inhaled the distinct, heavy scent of him for a last time.

He might not want to run, very well -

But she had to try.

She plastic wrapping of the last package still cut with sharp edges into her palm. He would survive. He would awake tomorrow, furious and utmost betrayed by the one who should never be anything but submissive to him.

One day, he might be able to see she had been right. And maybe, he would follow. Maybe this wasn’t a farewell forever.

When she felt how he could not keep on carrying his own weight on his own any longer, she helped him into the black leather chair. He seemed to struggle against the drug for a few more moments, but then his body surrendered.

Rachel looked down at the man, one last attempt to memorize every little beloved detail about him.

Then she kissed him, but momentarily she had left him.

 

 

[](http://s435.photobucket.com/user/Maty_chan/media/scan247.png.html)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> latin translations:
> 
> gratias ago tibi = I thank you  
> Adoro te, domine, miserere! Ne me torqueas! = I beg you, master, have mercy! don’t torture me!  
> quaeso = please  
> ignosce me = forgive me
> 
> The last line is more or less quoted from "Tender as the night" by F. Scott Fitzgerald, the book Rachel has been reading in Chapter IV.


	9. Chapter VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey guys!  
> Sorry for the little break but our dear froeken_frost has just finished their bachelor thesis (yey, round of applause! :D)  
> Updates will come as usual biweekly on Tuesdays again :)

 

 

“Anything else for you, Sir?”

Timothy declined with a quick shake of his head and swiftly covered his mouth to hide a yawn. This was way too early in the morning for his taste – and for everyone else too since apparently he was even the first customer.

The man behind the counter shot him a compassionate smile before filling his order. Waiting, Timothy took out his mobile phone and recalled the data they had collected yesterday on the screen. The thought of how far the corruption had already spread within the department terrified him. This was absolutely nothing like he’d imagined his job to be in his teenage dreams, he –

"See something that interests you?"

Timothy blinked, interrupted in his gloomy thoughts. He must have looked rather confused. The cashier pointed his head to the jars filled with pastries. Obtained in his thoughts, Timothy must have been staring at the sweets without noticing. Damned be his subconscious cravings!

Still a bit off guard he simply nodded at the grinning man.

“Ah yes, these are our specialty! Cream filled triple chocolate. Plenty of sugar and unnecessary calories, but I guess you can take it.” The cashier explained and – did he just wink at him?

“I’m uhm…. pretty sure I can?”  
Well, _that_ was one over the top. It still earned him a low chuckle, though. He would count it as a partial victory.  
“Yeah... I guess I’ll take two then. Of the triple chocolate, I mean.”

“Very well, Sir.”

With one last sheepish grin directed at the guy Timothy took the paper bag and made his way to the department. A dopey smile played on his lips as mentally prepared for this morning’s task.

Timothy de Moray would start operation "befriend the department" today - even if it meant he'd have to bribe his way through it with food.

 

* * *

 

 

When he entered the basement of the department, the lights in the lab were already buzzing. Now that he thought of it, he'd never actually seen the laboratory complex empty at all. Working in the criminology section seemed to be as much of a nine to five job as being a detective.

He stumbled through the narrow corridors for a bit, but eventually found the, bright red door to the right, though he hesitated before entering. It took him a few seconds to realize why: No throbbing music from the inside hinted Mia’s presence. Timothy frowned, but knocked anyway – without an answer.

He briefly wondered if the lights were on automatic and Mia wasn't even here yet. Shrugging he tried to open the door and found it unlocked.

“Mia?”

Timothy called once before he entered, still no answer.

He spotted her easily in the small room, standing next to the dissection table; with big, retro-like headphones covering her ears, nodding along with the rhythm of her music.

And elbow-deep in what appeared to be the body of a twenty-something old man, he noticed with a hint of discomfort.

“Here you are.”

Either she had pitched the volume to maximum again, or she was ignoring him on purpose.

“Mia!” He tried again.  
He stepped closer and cautiously tapped her on the shoulder.

“Mia?”

Startled by the sudden contact the pathologist jerked around, a metal tool in her hand – he noticed a nasty bit of unrecognizable tissue stuck to the tip of it - passing by disturbingly close to his face.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” She exclaimed.

Her headphones had slid down around her neck, jolly music humming from them. “Are you out of your goddamn mind? I almost cut you!”

Timothy raised his hands defiantly.

“Woah, easy there! Sorry 'bout that! I called you plenty of times, though. Try turning down the volume a bit!”

The startled look on Mia’s face quickly changed to confusion. Her eyes wandered over to the locked door behind him, as if expecting more people to follow.

She ran her fingers nervously through the messy bun of her hair - to Timothy's horror with the nasty tool still in her hand.

“So what is it? New data? Need an update on the wanderer case? I’m not completely done with the tests yet, I tried to get them this night but…”

Timothy interrupted her.

“No, no! I didn't mean to stress you, I just thought… Well I got here earlier than usual and thought since I’m grabbing breakfast anyway… I’d bring you something, too?”

The pathologist still looked skeptical. Her eyes wandered from the brown paper bag, up to him and back to the bag again, just as if she was pondering whether the food would be making up for the exhausting social contact.

“Ok…but remember: The first rule of the lab: You don’t sneak up at somebody if there are corpses around! I might accidentally stab you next time thinking you are a zombie!”

Timothy's childhood memory cheered at the reference, but when he noticed her dead-pan face he stopped snickering.

“Do you think I’m joking?” The pathologist snapped harshly, the bloodied scalpel still in her hand. “I…uh….” Timothy stuttered, ringing for words.

Mia finally placed the tool down and removed her gloves, then gave him a sudden playful hit on the shoulder.

“Relax, I’m fucking with you! You should have seen your face!”

Laughing at his probably less flattering facial expression, she rolled her chair over to the small work desk on the opposite side of the room. Still way too close to the exposed corpse for Timothy’s taste, but obviously she didn't mind.

“What’ve you got in there?” She asked, her eyes hungrily following the bag that Timothy placed on the table.

“Oh you know, just some sandwiches. Nothing special, but some decent carbs for a fresh start.”

And after she didn’t respond, he added:

“One Hawaiian style with ham and pineapple and one with tomato-mozzarella, because I wasn’t sure if you eat meat.”

She made a devaluating gesture and reached to the side of the table where a bunch of emptied energy drinks were standing.

“Meat’s alright.”

She shook a few cans before she found one that still contained some rest of the sugary, caffeinated drink and took a big gulp. He noticed how tired she looked, even considering her standards.

“So… when did you get here today? I thought I’d be the first one.” He stated, but she only shrugged defiantly.

“Didn’t get home last night. Wanted to stay a little longer. You know, to run some tests for the wanderer guy, but while I was waiting for the first one to finish I had an idea for a second one and well…. now it’s too late to go to bed, I guess. You know how these things go.”

_Did he?_

While explaining she started dissecting the sandwich in front of her. Timothy was struggling not to cringe as she picked it to pieces and threw the perfectly fine tomatoes into the trash can.

"Tomatoes got nothing to do on Hawaiian, after all." She declared casually.

Timothy wasn't sure whether she was just stating the obvious, or expecting an answer from him, or complaining about his choice. Finally, he had been silent for too long to answer. So he said nothing. Which resulted in the spreading of a pretty familiar, awkward silence. Timothy tried to ignore it nagging at his nerves and focused on his own food instead. 

“Thanks.”

A bit confused Timothy looked up from his sandwich. Mia shot him a wonky smile and pointed at her now empty napkin. Seemed like she wasn't immune to awkward social moments either.

Timothy smiled back at her and cracked his brain to come up with something - _anything!_ \- suitable for light conversation. Or at least more suitable than ‘ _So, which part of the body did you remove for the test you mentioned?’_

“Maybe next time I should get you some sunshine too. And sleep.” _Well, at least that was a little better than morbid table conversation._

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead she put on a halfhearted smile and tossed the napkin in the trashcan, cheering when she hit it at first try. Timothy hadn’t even done his second bite yet. 

“You learn to survive without sleep in med school." She added indifferently.

“I guess so. Especially when you rush through it in record time. How else would you get a position like this at your age? ” Timothy added.

Again a devaluating gesture. She squirmed in her seat, seemingly uncomfortable talking about what Timothy considered perfectly fine small talk.

“Oh. I graduated early. Have been lucky enough to get an apprenticeship, plus skipped a few classes in highschool… “

Well, if that wasn't a song Timothy knew as well.

“Did you have helicopter parents, too?” He asked with a smile hoping she would interpret it as a conspiratorial one.

“What now?”

“Helicopter parents. Parents who’re always circling above their children, pushing them, pressuring them to achieve their best….”

He was one to talk himself. Mr. de Moray Sr. had never looked kindly on Timothy’s failures either - neither the smaller nor the bigger ones.

“Uh... No, you really can’t say that in my case.”

He was about to inquire, if only to skip the awkward pause, when Mia continued:

“They died pretty early. Grew up in orphanages most of the time.”

_Oh._

Timothy congratulated himself for his lack of tact.

“It’s alright. It’s been a while. Not a big deal anymore.”

 _‘No big deal’_ she said. For all the times Timothy could have punched the smirk off his father’s face, he'd never wanted to imagine his life without him, or his mother, for that matter.

“And hey, nothing like threatening poverty to keep you motivated in school I guess, huh?”

She brushed it off easily again, but Timothy couldn't. He was just about to tell her how sorry he felt, but then decided against it. Pity seemed like the last thing the woman wanted to hear from him.

“Yeah, you must have been pretty motivated to get out of Med School and into these basements. I can really see the appeal of formaldehyde and the stench of shit and death…” He concluded with a long glance towards the opened corpse.

Mia fiddled with her long fingers, trying to find a decent answer.

“You know, when I first started studying, I planned to become a doctor. Well, I do have a doctor title, obviously, but – you know: A 'real' doctor. Working with living people. But I soon learned that I was the worst at it. I just couldn’t handle talking to and being responsible for people all day, it was just so…exhausting.

“So... postgraduate training it was. You know, for becoming a pathologist. I mean I knew the competition would be pretty damn high. And I sometimes find it hard to believe that Captain Adamowicz gave me this chance. I’d really not like to disappoint her.”

The way Mia struggled with her words, it seemed that it had been a while since the pathologist had spoken about it. Maybe it actually was as lonely down here as he had assumed.

He smiled thankfully at her, trying to communicate his appreciation non-verbally, since a little voice inside his head told him she wouldn't look kindly on him speaking his sentiments now.

Untouched by his silent communication attempts, Mia craned her neck to look inside the paper bag again. The sight of it made him laugh.

“By the way, have I seen cookies in there?”

“Mia, it’s only 7:30 in the morning!” Scolding, he wiggled a finger at her.

“So what?”

“You can’t eat cookies that early in the morning?”

“Watch me!”

With a stern expression she rummaged through the bag again. Triumphantly she pulled a chocolate filled cookie out of it - along with a piece of paper.

“Well, well, what have we here?” Mia waved a card in front of him, a phone number written across it in blue ink.

“Cookies and a stranger’s phone number? Nice!”

 _Shit_. Timothy remembered how the cashier had winked at him earlier. No doubt whose number that was on the paper.

He snatched it from her fingers and shoved it down his pocket.

“Hush! It’s enough you steal my sweets!”

Snickering, Mia took a bite from her prey.

Timothy noticed how his cheeks got a little warmer and quickly decided to change the topic.

“You know” Mia continued, still chewing “it was about time Joshua got a new partner. Especially since McTir went nuts a few months ago.”

“What happened to him, exactly? I’ve heard rumors, but well… Rumors.”

Mia contemplated a few seconds, finishing her cookie.

“Guess it started out with a burn-out, though as far as I know he never said a word anyone. Stubborn bastard. Wouldn’t even have asked for help if his damn life depended on it.

"In the end, he became totally paranoid, saw conspiracies where there weren’t any; thought usual crimes as a part of some kind of terroristic plan. Even went to the FBI in the end.”

Mia casually wiped the corners of her mouth, cleaning it from the bits of chocolate.

“You met Valerie yet? From the IT-department?”

Timothy nodded. A personality as colorful as hers was rather easy to remember.

“Her wife – or partner? Don’t know, but Leliana’s working for the FBI, and McTir annoyed both of them with his theories. Not much the FBI-lady wanted to do about it, though.

"One day he accused her to be ‘one of them’ - whoever ‘ _them’_ were supposed to be. Got pretty upset that day; Val wasn’t amused at all that he yelled at her wife.”

She shook her head but obviously couldn’t resist a little smile.

“Must have been quite a show.” Timothy stated.

Mia snickered. "Guess you could say that. She punched him in the face. Nicely bruised his jaw, the lady!"

He let go of a perplexed huff. Val hadn't exactly looked the violent type to him. But Mia already continued.

“Don’t know exactly how, but the next day Captain Adamowicz declared McTir for suspended and he hasn’t been seen ever since.”

“So, he's been kicked out completely? That sounds horrible...” Timothy admitted.

"At least Val had to apologize to him. Should have seen her face! She was _not_  amused!"

She kept nibbling on her cookie and hunted down a crumb that landed on her desk. 

“Well, I guess that makes it easier for you, as long as you don’t go totally nuts, you are still not as bad as him….” She suggested while she arched an eyebrow.

Timothy certainly didn't plan to.

“Well, I guess that’s what the job can do to you…. “

He started to feel a little uneasy, thinking about the topic.

“With cases just as horrible as the crucifixion one, certainly." He added gloomily. "Shit like that messes pretty badly with your head after a while... I have really no idea how Joshua can endure this job after all that time. After the thing with his girlfriend, especially.”

Mia’s expression had shifted to uneasy again, her gaze was focused on the corpse of the poor bastard they found on the bridge.

“Yeah...”

It seemed like she wanted to say something more but then they were interrupted:  
Without a knock on the door, an elderly woman stepped in. Timothy scarcely recognized her as Captain Adamowicz’s secretary.

“I am sorry to disturb you, but… Detective de Moray? You need to follow me up. There is someone at the door that want’s to speak to you and only to you. It seems to be very important.”

He shot Mia an apologizing look and hasted towards the door.

“You know, we should do this again sometime!”

 

  



	10. Chapter IX

 

  


According to the bright sun, Joshua apparently was in hell. This early in the morning, that damn thing up in the sky should turn down the intensity and let people make their way to work without that unnerving reminder of summertime and happiness.

He was, of course, exaggerating. Not that anyone was around to care, with Alice still sound asleep when Timothy had called, and his housekeeper too busy to notice he was leaving earlier for work _again._  With a pang of guilt he remembered how he promised Alice to have a shared breakfast this morning. _She'll understand, when she's older. Hopefully._

He took a sip from his coffee and got into his car.

Damned traffic lights. Damned traffic.

It was scarcely late enough for anyone to be awake, why the hell did the streets have to be that crowded already?

In his anger, he drank too quickly and burnt his tongue.

_Great._

Twenty minutes later and thoroughly annoyed he arrived at the police department.

“Seen my partner somewhere?” He asked, when the Captain’s secretary Lirene passed him by. The usually neat hair bun looked slightly disheveled today. Apparently he wasn’t the only one having a troubled morning.

“Last time I saw him in interrogation room C, Detective Chromwell.” She answered. Joshua grumbled a quick thanks and was on his way again.

Thankfully, he found his partner still being were Lirene had seen him last. Across from him, a young woman was seated, her ragged dress and the smeared make-up under her eyes spoke of the rough night she must have had.

_Did he really just call me out of bed to question a prostitute? God fucking sake!_

“Timothy! A word?”

His partner smiled utterly relieved at him and briefly told the woman to stay where she was.

_We can count ourselves lucky that there’s nothing to steal in these rooms._ He thought with a look at the ragged, meager figure. _Bet, she'll nap anything that'll get her some drugs!_

As soon as they were safely out of earshot in the room next door, Joshua blurted:

“A hooker? That’s why you order me here before breakfast?”

Timothy stood cross-armed in front of the semitransparent mirror, watching the woman sitting on the other side.

“Not just _a_ hooker, Joshua. An escort girl escaped from our favorite local drug cartel.”

Joshua huffed in annoyance. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t been at this point before. And by the look of that girl, she probably would claim to know all sorts of things – as long as she’d get payed for it! Joshua grit his teeth at the thought of it.

 He must have been looking very amusing, at least Timothy snickered dryly.

“Yep, hit me without forewarning, too. I was down at the lab, and out of the sudden Lirene proclaims 'Get up here, there’s someone who wants to see you’.” Joshua examined the woman through the glass, still sitting unmoving at the table, her hands chastely folded in her lap.

“Have you questioned her already?” He asked.

He declined. “Wanted to wait ‘til you arrived. She was pretty oversharing, though. She claims to know who is behind the crucifixion cases." Timothy added watching him cautiously.

Joshua didn't know what to say. His brain refused to work. Mechanically he turned around and stared at the young woman. He tried to shake of the mental images, but all he could see was Marianne's tortured body on that fucking cross.

"We question her now." He declared and was about to leave the room, when Timothy held him back. 

"Joshua, wait. We have to get her checked, first. Okay? I mean - take a look at her: She could be fainting every second!"

Joshua spun around and shoved Timothy's hand away. 

"Do you really think getting her into a hospital is a good idea? Do you think she'll ever get out of there again? Haven't you been present yesterday when Val discovered how far the corruption has spread?!"

He realized he was yelling at the younger man. Which he actually didn't mean to. Couldn't Timothy see, what that meant for the case? At least he didn't flinch at his outburst. 

Timothy twisted his mouth sourly.

"Don't remind me." And after a quick consideration, he added: "What about Mia? She's a doctor after all. She could check her for the basic things." He paused and frowned. "If you think we can trust her, that is."

Joshua shot the prostitute one long look. White as a sheet, she really looked as if she could faint at any second. Maybe Timothy was right about that.

Joshua shrugged reluctantly. “At the moment, she’s our best option, right?”

 

* * *

 

“No way.”

Joshua might not be an expert in reading people’s emotions, but Mia’s crossed arms and the defiant look on her face, even made it clear for him that she wasn’t especially thrilled.

“Mia, you’re that girl’s best chance to not get shipped back to the cartel, could you _please_ just go ahead and treat her?”

Timothy tried, but she insisted.

“That’s not my fucking job, and you know that! I can’t even remember when I last treated a living person! And checking for genital injuries? It’s more likely that I’ll hurt her myself, and you know why? Because I’m not a fucking gynecologist!”

Joshua brushed his palms over his cheeks and tried to collect his temper.

“May I remind you, that none of us might have a job in the next month if the Captain learns about that woman? Or try thinking about what will happen to the girl if the cartel learns she told us all about them?”

Mia’s defiant expression faltered and she bit down on her lip. So he continued:

“So please examine her, so that we can take her some place safe before the Captain shows up and gets her out of our custody!”

Mia’s jaw clenched, and he was no big fan of the look she shot at him. That had to wait until later.

“You owe me big time, both of you!” Mia declared, her hands stemmed on her hips, clearly displeased.

“How about a month’s ratio of energy drinks?” he suggested in a more playful tune.

_Or a nice dinner, just the two of us? I’ll even let her chose the music, the entire evening!_ He would add that later, when Timothy wasn’t listening.

Mia rolled her eyes at his suggestion, obviously not in the mood for jokes. “Whatever…”

“Well, great, that’s settled then. Could we get back at it? We don’t have much time.”

Mia sighed in response. “Let’s just get it over with.”

 

* * *

 

In almost silence they made their way up to the examination rooms.

The tension between them was almost palpable. Behind him he heard Timothy talking insistently to Rachel, trying to find soothing words. But the girl stayed silent. Joshua shot her a quick glance over the shoulder. She still held her head down, her feet scuffing over the floor.

Joshua hurried them along, impatient to finally start questioning her. Mia had made sure the girl wouldn't faint and die - that would be enough for now.

The girl nodded obediently and sped up. Joshua noticed how weak her steps were and promptly felt guilty for his impatience. Apparently, the situation felt too awkward for Timothy: Even he had stopped talking.

Joshua pushed the door to the interrogation room open and told Rachel to go and sit down for a bit.

"Wait for a second, alright? Have to talk to my partner first."

The girl refused to look him in the eyes, only nodded and slid past him and into the room, careful to keep as much distance between him and her. Joshua caught the empathic look on Timothy's face. Mia's however remained an unreadable mask to him.

"Come on, guys. Room next door."

With the door closed behind them, Timothy let out a weary sigh.

"Damn it. That's just not... right." The younger man positioned himself in front of the window, watching Rachel through the glass. Who again had taken her chaste, crestfallen posture. "How old is she even?"

Mia stepped forward, next to Timothy. "Twenty-seven. Like me." She furrowed her brows. "'S strange, right? How life can play out sometimes?"

Joshua couldn't get what she implied. Though before he could inquire, Timothy already asked.

"What do you mean?"

Mia turned her gaze from the window and shot the two of them a wavering smile.

"Well... Turns out I know her."

“Now, that’s a surprise. Do you often treat yourself with a nice lady-escort?” Timothy added, still painfully oblivious to the tense atmosphere.

_Well, think about that –_ Oh great, now he got some pictures stuck in his head!

Mia herself mimicked a crooked smile.

“No, smartass. We were in Med School together.”

Her smile faltered as she looked through the semi-transparent mirror. Again, the woman had taken a seat on the same spot as before, in the same position, knees together, hands clasped in her lap, head down.

_Talking about old-fashioned upbringing.,_ Joshua thought.

“She was about to become a doctor, just like me. It’s strange, right? I could be in her place now, and she in mine if the universe would have played us some different cards.”

She laughed bitterly.

“Rachel Lavellan. Daughter of Senator Lavellan and top of the class. We’ve come a long way.”

Timothy intervened, apparently better informed than Joshua.

“Wait, Senator Donna Lavellan’s daughter?”

Mia nodded. “Yep. That old bitch of a senator used to come to the school once a year, donate a shit ton of money and give a boring speech no one wanted to hear.”

And with an unhappy grin she added: “I… might not always have been nice to Rachel for that. Seemed at the time much like she was only there for her mother’s money.” Mia fell silent for a moment. “And now look at her.”

“Seems like money can’t buy you happiness after all.” Joshua summarized, impatient to finally get in there and get the information the girl had promised. “You think she’ll make it through the day without dying from cold turkey?”

Mia bit her lips, her fingers clawed a little tighter around the edges of her clipboard.

“I guess you noticed she’s an addict. From the marks on her veins and what she told me, mostly heroin, sometimes cocaine or a bit of acid, if she has a long… uh... night shift. I’ve given her some medical cocaine, so she won’t collapse for now. It’ll still be though for her, though…”

“Expected that much.” Joshua concurred.

Mia continued. “As to injuries: Apparently she ran half the city to get here – bare feet. By the way, rather don’t look at them. She used the veins on her feet for the H, it’s pretty nasty business. Stinks like hell… Guess I know, why she’s wearing stockings, when she’s… ah… working.”

Tastefully underlined with a suggestive gesture.

“Apart from that, she has some healing bruises on her face as well as on her arms. And some fresh ones on the bottom and the back and inside of her tights. No excessive internal damage, though… I mean the part about the sexual abuse is probably true.”

Timothy huffed, his lips twisted in disgust. “Modern slavery. That’s just lovely.”

Joshua nodded grimly and turned to Mia again. “So, with the bruises, this night…?” His gut twisted a bit when he saw Mia nodding.

“Yes, she had sex, quite recently. That jackass didn’t even used a condom! I’ll have her checked for STDs, just in case. Sent in the samples under the name of an older victim, it’s not like it’s gonna harm them.” She added.

Joshua bit down on his lower lip. He hoped the girl would be willing to share whatever information she had gathered during pillow talk.

“So, do you think she’s stable enough to be questioned?” Joshua asked. Time was still running short after all.

“How would I know? I’m even less a psychiatrist then a gynecologist! But she already wanted to tell _me_ everything, so I think she can handle it?”

Joshua gave Mia a pat on the shoulder.

“You’re right, we owe you one.”

Timothy’s grin was almost ridiculously broad.

“And you didn’t even try to attached a note to her big toe!”

Mia snickered in response. “Wasn’t far from it!”

_Maybe he should take her on more than a nice dinner. Maybe a short weekend trip, when all this was over._ _Somewhere nobody knew them, where nobody knew about anti-fraternization rules_.

 

* * *

 

When they entered the interrogation room, Rachel sat up a little straighter, but otherwise didn’t change a bit. Not even when he and Timothy sat down opposite to her. He had asked Mia to join them as well – female support – but she chose to remain in the room behind the mirror.

The woman didn’t even lift her eyes when Joshua addressed her directly.

“We’ll start with your personal data. Your name is Rachel Lavellan, is that correct?”

Her voice was quiet when she answered, but calm and collected. Not exactly what Joshua had expected from an escaped abuse survivor.

“It is Rachel Amelia Lavellan, to be more precise.”

“Just as well.” Joshua continued. “You have any ID-card with you?”

Rachel’s head jolted a little further down as if she would expect resentment.

The sight twisted Joshua’s stomach.

“I do not. Unfortunately enough, I have not been able to carry any of my private belongings with me when I fled.”

_Would have been too easy._

“It’s alright, Miss. We’ll figure that one out later. Why don’t you tell us about your escape first?” Timothy encouraged. Rachel nodded obediently.

“I have been serving some minor lackey tonight. After he had taken his pleasures from me, he asked me to pour him a drink. An addition of sleep inducing drugs was easy enough for me to hide from my client. Do not worry. I calculated the amount to suit his weight, he ought to be awake again by now. I did not cause any murder your department would have to trouble about.”

Rachel shot a quick glance to the both of them.

_She’s proud of it. Of her escape? Or perhaps because she’s still able to calculate after all those drugs..._

“Once a medic…” Joshua attempted to joke, but didn’t even think himself to be very funny. He rather quickly cleared his throat and kept on questioning.

“So, that man you… served tonight. Who is he?”

Rachel lifted her gaze from her lap and smiled calmly at him.

“As I told you previously, Detective Chromwell: Nobody of importance. One of Caesar’s inferior lackeys. Mostly everybody of importance accompanied Caesar on his visit in Vegas.”

Confused, Joshua pressed on about that. Apparently the cartel’s head attempted to forge an alliance with a cartel in Vegas. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to get to know about it.

Could it be? Could he finally get this insider information he had failed to obtained three years ago?

“From the beginning. All the information you have of the leadership. In as much detail as you can give.”

And oh, Rachel talked.

 

The leader had kept her as his favorite ‘pet’ for years, she told him. To impress his guests – the senator’s daughter defiled as a whore in a drug cartel. To let everyone know not even the senator’s family was safe from his grip.

And of his Right Hand she told him, mainly called ‘Lisa’. Though she had been unsure, whether that was her real name.

“Caesar’s Right hand is truly a cruel woman. If ever Caesar has need for unsubtle work, he will call Lisa. After an order fulfilled she was wont to describe her work in morbid detail, thus intimidating us. As far as I am informed she is the one responsible for the crucifixions within this town.”

Joshua had zoned out after that.

_The Right Hand. Lisa._

Marianne’s dull, open eyes were staring at him once again, those beautiful dark eyes, once so expressive and full of life. He’d loved them for so long. Marianne’s eyes – those were the only things he could look at on that day. Her bruised face, her twisted body, obscenely pinned to the wooden cross with thick, iron nails which teared on her small wrists…

_His fault._ He would have told himself in the months, years to come. _His fault._ That fucking thought again. He pushed it aside quickly. _Focus._

All this time they had searched for an entire gang, the whole cartel, but it was just _one woman_?

“You okay, Joshua?” He heard Timothy’s voice as through the dense fog.

He tried to calm himself.

Maybe the girl had even _seen_ Marianne before she’d died?

“Have you ever heard of a woman called Marianne Williamson? A journalist? In May 2013?”

Rachel looked rather helpless, but he kept going.

“Brown, curled hair, dark eyes? About… Wait.” He rummaged his purse for a photograph of her, dimly aware that Mia was standing right behind the mirror. He hoped she’d understand.

But Rachel only shook her head, looking at him with that detestable, compassionate look on her face.

“I do apologize, Detective. I have never seen this woman in my life. Furthermore, in May 2013, I was not by Caesar’s side.”

Keen-eared, Timothy looked up from his notes and inquired.

“You weren’t? You said you were ‘one of Caesar’s whores’ by 2011. What was so special of May 2013?”

A wistful smile lightened Rachel’s freckled face.

“It was the 8th of May in 2013 that my son was born.”

The well-kept façade of Rachel’s face faltered for a few seconds, a blink of sadness showed before she carried on.

“Caesar had granted me three months in a resort to give birth to my Noah and prepare for the return to my duties.”

_One year younger than Alice._

Rachel was about to resume. Told them how Caesar’s legion had bribed several police officers, as well as two judges in Court, though unfortunately she had never heard their real names, only codes.

But Joshua cut her off again. Val had told them about those already.

_Lisa._ He repeated. _Caesar’s Right Hand._

“There must be more! What’s the Right Hand’s real name? Any last name? Where does she come from? Where does she stay? _Anything_ we can use to track her down?”

His voice was pitching up at the end, but he didn’t care. He was standing, planting himself threateningly in front of her, but he didn’t care.

To his surprise, Rachel stayed collected, a weak smile hovering over her lips. “I am truly sorry, Detective. The Right Hand is no one to share her secrets with minor prostitutes.”

Numbed, Joshua sat down again.

All these people. How many had there been? He couldn’t say. Dozens of people, dozens of wooden crosses. They’d always thought it to be a trademark of the legion. But no. It was solely one woman’s cruelty.

His mind was fogged at the idea. Through a blur he heard Timothy continuing.

“About the bribed policemen… Do you have any details?”

Rachel nodded and stared at her hands again.

“There is one I shall emphasize in particular: I once heard of a man held hostage by the Legion who was referred to as “the burnt woman’s spouse”. As far as I have gathered, it must concern a high-raised member within the police.”

Timothy and Joshua exchanged quick, knowing glances. Captain Rebecca Adamowicz’s husband. Val had been right about that, too.

“Further, I am grieved to tell you of your agent Jeremy Monroe. He was… Publically tortured and eventually executed. I do not know whether you were involved with him on a personal level, but you have my sympathies either way.”

Joshua hadn’t ever heard of the man, but signalized her to go on anyway.

“There is one more, I ought to tell you about, though I might dislike it. Our families knew each other for generations.”

She inhaled deeply and continued: “There is one man, they refer to with the code name ‘The Hawke’. Spelled like the bird, but with an _e_ to the end. I always assumed it to be an orthographic mistake. The man serves Lisa as a loyal bodyguard, though she sometimes transfers some of her less spectacular work to him.

“His actual name is Marius Amell. Apart from his work I came to know him as a decent person, which is regrettable. Still, he is a dangerous man after all, and I do not wish for any more damage to be done.”

Joshua noted the name down.

Hawke – Marius Amell.

Then he addressed Rachel one last time.

“And you are sure those are _all_ of the high-ranking members you know? Caesar himself, his Right Hand Lisa, her bodyguard Hawke. Those are all of them?” Again, Rachel looked serenely at him.

“Those are his executing forces, indeed.”

Joshua didn’t even bother to hide his frown.

_She is hiding something from us._

“You said, Lisa was called ‘Caesar’s Right Hand’. What about a ‘Left Hand’, then?” He was pushing his luck now, to be sure. But something was at odds.

“Doesn’t ring a bell?”

Again, that creepy serene look of hers: “I am afraid you must be mistaken, Detective. I have never heard of any men or women bearing this name.”

Without saying anything else, Joshua called Timothy and Mia into the room next door.

“See, I told you she’d be worth getting up that early! That girl” Timothy pointed at Rachel through the glass of the mirror “is worth her weight in gold!”

“Or she would be, if she wasn’t half-anorexic.” Mia added, but Joshua hushed both of them dissatisfied.

“She’s holding something from us. Someone.”

Timothy frowned.

“What makes you think that? She’s told us so much already, why keep something from us now?”

“In the eyes of the cartel she must be condemned either way by now.”, Mia added.

Joshua turned to Mia. “You said she her bruises were from tonight, right?”

Mia nodded thoughtfully, unclear what Joshua indicated.

“Rachel told us she has spent the night with some _‘minor lackey’_. But which minor lackey would dare to bruise the boss’ favorite whore like that?”

Suddenly nervous, they exchanged quick looks.

_Why the hell would Rachel lie to us now?_


End file.
